


The Whore

by morgan_cian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mistake cannot be undone despite the greatest of intentions. From virgin to whore, the story of Crimson Valley's most sought after concubine, and wanted by the one person who cannot have him for his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whore

Prologue

The auction for the most part had been expected and boring. Old wares rehashed over and over. Broken toys that had lost their appeal, their value, deadened eyes resigned to the transient nature of their fate. Overgrown, insolent children were not careful with their possessions.

The ice in the glass cracked and shifted. Condensation slid down crystal to pool on the scared table. His number, his paddle, rested beside it. He had not lifted it once since the bidding began.

The night would be a total failure. He had his duties to perform, accounts to balance, issues to discuss with his foreman. His last walk down the cobbled path that divided the pagodas, listening to the sounds of night accompanied by the moans of passion, the cries of sweet pain, the shouts of completion, the sounds of business well attended and satisfaction to those who gave their gold for pleasure.

He would fill his lungs with the scent of earth, perfumed by jasmine and musk; give his benediction to the moon before the fall into peaceful oblivion of rest. Only to repeat over and over again as Chairman of Crimson Valley, on the outskirts of the red light district where perversions and flesh were sold like cheap watered down wine at a pub.

The sound of gavel against lectern interrupted his thoughts. He drummed his fingers restlessly. He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt, twisting the cuff links, straightening his sleeves. His knee bounced beneath the thin wool of his trousers. He had little patience for dissatisfaction and boredom. He pushed the horn rimmed glasses up the slope of his nose. The room was warm, too warm to be uncomfortable.

“Madams and Messieurs, the last lot of the evening,” The auctioneer leered, the shadows of firelight and candle casting his face into shadow with painted features and pretentious top hat. His face was transformed into the bottom feeding cockroach of his soul.

Those gathered sat forward in anticipation. Surrounded by fools that were swept away in the mockery of showmanship, his lip curled in disdain, his cold blue eyes glittered and rolled in derision behind glass lenses, after such paltry offerings what more could be worth the buzz of chattering, the twittering and cold laughter of purveyors of sex as a commodity.

And nearly recoiled when Jasper sat beside him. He did not like surprises and having his foreman suddenly appear ranked highly among unwanted distractions. His lips folded into a thin line of anger. His fingers curled around the damp glass. He waited for the explanation that would not appease his wrath.

Jasper knew better.

“Apologies, Chairman,” Jasper lowered his eyes, neck exposed as was his due. “I have no other words for my behalf only that I wanted to keep you from dishonor, a mistake that would besmirch your reputation.”

His eyes narrowed in warning.

“Lot 35,” the auctioneer called. “Unspoiled and clearly top notch quality.”

“Chairman,” Jasper hissed.

He looked to the stage. A new and unwanted feeling curled in his gut. Lust, heat, greed, want, possession, the words tumbled in his mind, his blood pumping with the frenetic energy it caused.

The boy lifted his head; the tumble of straw colored hair fell away from a wide smooth forehead. Large gray eyes blinked, slow and hazy, sedating drugs were a normal practice in the profession of selling humans as if they were property, to keep them in control and pliant, no better than dogs hunkering in the alleys. His body was as pale as marble, fragile and almost dainty beneath the swirls of dirt at knobby knees and elbows. Hands clutched uselessly to hide his vulnerability to the caterwauling audience, twisting in the heavy leather manacles.

Untouched, untainted, innocent to the world snapping at each other as the crowd surged forward. Wanting a piece of him, to capture him, to spoil him, mold him into the broken toys already on display. His paddle was in his hand as bids were called around him, a manic merry-go-round of glee.

Jasper did the unthinkable, hand heavy on his wrist, halting the upward motion with decisive warning. “Chairman, you cannot. He will ruin you. He’s an undera…”

The words fell away like raindrops as he stood to his feet. His bid was over and beyond those that were bouncing around the room. His voice was loud, authoritative, and assured. The noise slowly died away. The painted auctioneer gaped, a fish gasping for useless air.

“Do I hear another…” The auctioneer’s voice was hoarse from the revelry, the gavel trembled uncertainly.

He looked around the room, bland and daring. He had not acquired a new concubine in many months, the allowance building and gaining interest. His business could withstand the amount. He could hear the rumbling of dissatisfaction and anger rising like a wave.

No one spoke or raised a paddle. They could not compete. 

The boy was his.

“Chairman,” Jasper’s voice bordered on a wail.

The gavel fell.

“Sold. Lot 35 goes to the Chairman of Crimson Valley.”

*~*

He could tell that Jasper was holding his tongue, defeated and unsure due to the sale being finalized. There would be repercussions, Jasper could not strive above his station but the Chairman trusted him. He needed a foreman that he could rely on, keep his business running like a well oiled machine.

The weight of the boy’s file rested in his hands. It had been a wise decision. A coup for Crimson Valley and if he were honest, it was one for himself as well.

“Speak.”

Jasper grimaced, his hand going to the nape of his neck.

“Why?”

Jasper’s eyes lowered once more and he licked his bottom lip. “I keep my ear to the ground, to anticipate, I had heard there would be quite the stir this evening but I did not get the pertinent information only hours ago. I thought I could stop it in time.”

Again he frowned, he took Jasper’s council, and it was welcome. But the thought of his foreman manipulating his decisions made him angry and wary.

“Explain yourself.”

Jasper seemed to compose himself under the Chairman’s tone. “Not every day a virgin comes down the pike like a gift from the gods. Got me curious,” Jasper’s words got thicker and slower, belaying his country upbringing. 

“Lots of rumors around that one,” Jasper’s face puckered as if he tasted something bad, “and Marcolo isn’t known for checkin’.” He lifted his green eyes once more, “Word is the kid is underage, stolen goods and I…” his voice trailed off and Jasper ducked his head, “I didn’t want the repercussions for Crimson Valley.” Then he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Or you.”

He paced back and forth, the boy’s papers clenched in his fist. “Rumors are just that,” he spat the words, “rumors and innuendo, for Jupiter’s sake, we sell sex. Marcolo would not put his license under suspicion for an underage, purity or not.”

Jasper looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it, “Of course.”

The rustling of the curtain silenced any further discussion. The boy was led in by a lead attached to his manacles. Marcolo looked worn and sad, the glare of lamp oil light not as forgiving or mysterious as firelight. The ragged edges of his coat and the dishevelled makeup apparent as he smeared more wiping away sweat with a filthy rag.

“You have the papers, good, good, and the transfer of gold is complete, excellent.” He thrust the lead at Jasper, tripping a bit in his haste. He was trying to get away and in a hurry.

His brow drew into a thunderous frown. “Marcolo.” The Chairman’s voice was heavy with threat. The man squeaked and turned, twisting his hands, the ragged lace cuffs flapping uselessly.

“Messier Chairman,” Marcolo feigned arrogance, oily and self assured, but the trembling of his lips and hands belied his intent. His eyes narrowed and the quaking increased.

“Is there anything more that needs to be addressed?”

“No, no, Messier, are sales are final.”

Doubt curled in his gut, “But the reputation at stake is your own.”

“And I stand by it,” Marcolo rushed, tipping his top hat and stumbling from the room, knocking over a crate in his haste.

“Venus’ tits,” Jasper muttered.

The Chairman ignored his foreman. Dread increased as he stepped up to the boy, lifting his chin. Wide gray eyes peeked from matted hair, frightened and innocent. And also clear, the sedative rapidly leaving his system.

A slender nose, full lips, ridiculous eyelashes, cheekbones sharp and alluring appearing from beneath rounded cheeks, the boy made a small movement. The Chairman tightened his grasp on the boy’s chin in reflex. The boy, however, just cocked his head to the side, fear evaporating as his eyes darted over the Chairman’s face, curiosity a bright light in large eyes.

The tumultuous emotions crashed through him as the boy hesitantly licked at his bottom lip. He wanted to take him back to his home, tie him to the bed, and never let him go. Never let another man touch him. He had his jacket off and draped over slender shoulders in a heartbeat.

Mine!! clawed at his throat and threatened to break free. He growled and swallowed it down.

The boy’s skin tightened at the sound, his eyes fluttered shut. Eyelashes kissed the pale beauty of unmarred, unpainted, pure skin.

The enormity of what he had done threatened to overwhelm him, acid burned in his gut. He dropped his hands to his side as he braced himself under the fury of his passion.

He had bought the boy. He would be a slave, a harem boy to please the customers of Crimson Valley. No matter his lineage, his cloudy validity, he would become the very thing that the Chairman had derided the clamoring crowd.

The sheer beauty of innocence would be twisted into a parody of passion, dead eyes and practiced ardor. Gone would be the bright curiosity and in its place hardened expectation. His purity would go to the highest bidder of those with financial interest in Crimson Valley. No better than the brothel owners and harlots that had attended the auction.

No better than himself.

He would not be the one to take the virgin flesh. To bring cries of startled pain as untested flesh surrendered to the impaling of another. Cries that would turn into moans of uncertain pleasure to shouts of release, sweaty and sticky on soft, heaving skin.

He met Jasper’s resigned gaze, as the foreman looped the lead over his fist and handed the curled leather to the Chairman, placing it into his free hand. The Chairman handed the file to his foreman as he would in any transaction of the past.

He would be the trainer, twisting and manipulating the boy into an image that would entice the masses. He fisted the leather leash in his hand.

What had he done?

His hand dropped away from the soft, heated skin. He would be to blame. The virgin blood sold to the highest bidder would be on his hands. Water would not wash the taint of his soul away. The boy blinked and looked away, shoulders slumping with an understood defeat.

“You will address me as Chairman or sir.”

Ice filled his veins.

The quiet reply, “Yes sir.”

A doubt of his actions shook his very core. They were just property, a means to an end, slaves to the masters of wealth and unwanted by society. Despite his beauty, his allure, his virginal appeal…

“You will be trained as a concubine for the Crimson Valley.”

Throat muscles worked audibly. “Yes sir.”

“Your body will be bought and sold over and over again.

No!! his mind howled, Mine, mine, mine. MINE!!!!

“Yes sir.”

“Go with Jasper, he will take you to the carriage.”

The slender body quaked, fingers twisting and curling. Gray eyes lifted once more, uncertain and fearful once more.

“Yes sir.”

He gave the lead back to Jasper. His foreman straightened his shoulders and led the boy from the ramshackle room. The Chairman’s lips peeled back into a snarl. He wanted to find Marcolo and squeeze the life from his useless, licentious, gluttonous body. To burn the top hat into ash as a dirge for the hopelessness of reality.

What had he done?

He had made the gravest mistake of his life. He could only hope that it would not cost him his life or his livelihood. His soul had been slotted for hell's darkest pit long ago, sold on the sweet of bought bodies and bought with wealth of the downfall of society, gluttony and greed, lust and power, the exchange of coin and flesh and bone.

What would he do?

The Chairman straightened his sleeves, tugged at his collar, and swept a tense hand through his hair. Gritting his teeth, he took off his glasses and polished them briskly. His shoulders straightened as he tamped down the roiling emotions surging through his veins.

What would he do?

As the Chairman of Crimson Valley, he would do his job, precisely and dispassionately. There had been boys before this one and there would be others after him, innocence notwithstanding.

He steeled himself against the vision of pale skin and wide gray eyes. The eventual crashing denial, the fight for self against the wheels of fate turning and moving forward, leaving behind a bloody trail of innocence lost and unwitting deeds that could not be undone.

What would he do?

He would create a whore.

*~*

Crimson Valley

Jasper sighed inwardly. The Chairman had been silent on the carriage ride. The boy, too, but that was to be expected. Jasper had spent his time mulling over the steps that would need to be taken upon arrival. All the while, his gaze shifted to the Chairman’s profile and the boy’s tangled hair, bright in the soft moonlight.

The wheels creaked to a halt in front of the brightly lit manor house. Jeremiah would be handling the business of the evening, having it thrust onto him by his brother leaving in rush. The Chairman was out and walking up the path with no word to Jasper, the implied handle it, heavy in the air.

It was turning cooler. The breeze flirted with the boy’s hair as Jasper helped from the carriage, hand to boney elbow when he stumbled. Jasper nodded his leave to the old stable hand, jealous that he would find his warm bed, oblivious of the drama unfolding. He led the boy down the cobbled path and into the warmth of the manor. 

The large gray eyes would be the kid’s downfall. It tugged at emotions that were not present in Crimson Valley, like protection, comfort, gentleness. Jasper had known there was a bad shadow on the moon, and Diana’s hand played them all expertly, merely fragile mortal players on the corporeal plane, no doubt entertaining the cold goddess bitch that she was.

If one subscribed to all the nonsense, Jasper shrugged uncomfortably as he hung his coat. It was not like he had paid homage to the temples since came to the age of maturity. And the rose and cherry blossom tribute to Venus, well, he had to escape the overwhelming despair of the Valley now and again.

Pretty had looked up from kneeling at the magistrate’s feet, his long slender fingers never stopping the teasing motion on the older man’s thigh. The concubine’s hair was pulled back exposing red lips and white throat. Violet eyes met his in own in resignation.

Resignation well placed because the magistrate was on the board of financials. The small beady eyes devoured the boy as he stood pushing Pretty’s hand aside nonchalantly. Jasper knew as the man made his way to the Chairman’s office, the magistrate would be the first bid on the kid’s virginity.

And when the word spread, there would be the physician, the alchemist, the barrister, and so on, greedy wolves on an unsuspecting prey.

“Well, well,” Pretty’s voice was husky and his lips swollen.

“Go on with you,” Jasper ordered, his voice firm. He was not a hard foreman but he ruled over the concubines with a steady hand. The older whore rolled his eyes and straightened the silk of his robe, a calculated adjustment that left nothing to the imagination. The vee of the robe exposing pale marble flesh and the loose tie at narrow hips exposing slender hairless legs, the movement was designed to attract, to allure, and Jasper was immune.

If he wanted Pretty’s ass, he could have it. Perks of the job, sex was always available as long as it did not tax or damage the concubine’s ability to turn a profit. Or if the whore was being trained or retrained, he looked at the boy once again, sex was mandatory.

“Pretty,” the concubine stopped and turned, exotic eyes curious, “You with the magistrate?”

The lift of shoulder caused the robe to slip; Jasper ignored the curve of shoulder and the peak of dusky pink nipple, tender and tight.

“Depends,” Pretty replied with a pointed look at the closed office door. 

Turning the boy toward the shadowed hallway, Jasper murmured, “If not, my bed before sunrise.”

Pretty’s hand traveled down his arm, fingertips grazed his wrist, and murmured “of course” before he disappeared into the night.

Jasper decided the best way to start was to expect the boy to fall in line and correct any missteps. He started down the hall, expecting the boy to follow and was pleasantly pleased when he did. The main manor house held a large bathing room while most of the concubines’ pleasured clients in the bathhouse in the valley.

The boy stayed quiet and still as Jasper removed the well worn shackles. The Chairman’s jacket was lifted off of sloping shoulders and carefully folded. It was placed on a chair and then Jasper turned further into the room. Lighting the candles, pouring the heated water, setting out shears and combs, the boy was a beauty there was no doubt but it was hidden. It was Jasper’s job to expose it.

He settled the boy into the water, only a small moan followed by a sharp hiss escaped his lips. The quiet was bordering on unnatural as he sluiced water over the boy’s body, feeling the tightening of muscles and involuntary jerks as he was touched intimately. Jasper made him stand and grip the side of the tub. No time like the present, he dragged the soft cloth down between the cleft of the boy’s ass watching the rounded muscles clench. Still no sound other than a choked off sob, Jasper watched the blonde head dip between shaking shoulders.

“You seem to know that silence and obedience is expected, but you are going to have to let it out sometime, kid, or you’re gonna blow and then there’ll be Mars’ wrath to pay.”

Head turned, the pink tongue darted out to swipe at the chapped bottom lip. Gray eyes narrowed, wary and unsure.

“Wh…” The boy’s voice cracked and nothing else followed.

Jasper considered the boy. “I know you aren’t mind addled, your eyes are too clear to be sure. Plus, Marcolo wouldn’t have been crowing and puttin’ his reputation at risk for a simpleton soon to be whore, no matter how pretty or untouched. Is there somethin’ wrong with your tongue boy?”

A snort erupted surprising them both, a blush colored the boy’s cheeks and Jasper’s mouth gaped open. An inopportune laugh escaped.

“Sure as hell hope not, huh, kid?” Jasper’s gaze softened when the boy’s head ducked shyly. Intrigued, he watched as the boy turned and sat on the lip of the tub. He realized that under the fear and uncertainty, they were overlooking one vital piece of information. Intelligence burned bright from large gray eyes that seemed in a moment, much too old for such a young face.

“Just how young are you?”

“Does it matter?” The boy asked hoarsely.

Intelligent and shrewd, Jasper felt unease wind through his chest, the boy was going to be more trouble than he originally anticipated. Taking the shears, he moved toward the boy. He lowered his head submissively, the tangled hair covering his eyes once more.

Jasper shaped his hair into shaggy layers around his shoulders, making the young face seem almost like a pixie. As long as he was young, the look would appeal to the customer. As he grew and matured, his look would have to change as well. Studying the innocent face, trying to picture the paint and accruements of a concubine, Jasper shook his head. The boy would never be beautiful with a waterfall of hair like Pretty or so many of the other concubines in the valley.

He helped him out of the tub and wrapped the slender damp body in a short, soft blue robe. The Chairman would appreciate the subtle detail. Taking out the strand of bells, Jasper knelt at the boy’s feet. Looking up, he saw resignation and tightened lips.

“What do you know?” He asked calmly wrapping the bells around the slender ankle, feeling the fragile bone of a body still developing.

“Only what the others whispered during the auction,” the boy replied, “I know what I was bought for.”

“Jupiter’s balls, kid,” Jasper groused as he stood, knees popping loudly, “How did you even end up there, your speech gives you away. It smacks of high bred upbringing, even nobility.”

The boy opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap. Lips tightened once more, eyes downcast. “Does it really matter?” He said again, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Jasper put his hands on his hips, “Keep your secrets for as long as you can hold them.” He pulled the plug on the tub and watched the water drain down the pipe. “It would be wise not to keep them from the Chairman.”

He lifted the boy’s chin, “He’ll find out, he always does, and it will be worse on you if he does.” The pale boney face remained blank and inscrutable, “This way.” 

The step, jangle, step, jangle gait signaled to the manor that there was a new concubine in training.

Jasper frowned at the closed office door. He shot a glance to his brother. Jeremiah lifted his shoulder. “Don’t know, ‘s been a quiet night, notwithstanding all the hullabaloo you caused flying outta here.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and drew the boy to his side, “No new customers.” Jeremiah shook his head. “Fancy still in the kitchens?”

“Like you even have to ask,” Jeremiah replied drolly.

Jasper tipped his brother a crude salute, mindful of no lingering customers in the vestibule. He pulled the boy along, thinking to get some food in his stomach before the Chairman summoned him.

Fancy greeted him with a firm kiss and a cuff to the ear. Jasper glowered at the aging whore as he sat the boy at the long table.

“Manners, Fancy,” He warned placing warm tea and buttered bread in front of the boy. 

Fancy just puckered his full lips and blew him a noisy kiss before studying the quiet boy. “New blood?”

Jasper nodded tearing off a hunk of bread and dipped it in honey, “Trouble, too.” The boy gave a minute flinch but kept his attention on shoveling in bread and gulping down tea.

Fancy chuckled, “That’s what you always say, how can this little scrap of thing be much different from all the others?” Painted eyes were wide and attempted guile, falling flat as the paint hiding the lines dug around once vibrant ocean eyes.

“On Mercury’s wings, Fancy, I know.”

The boy cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “You haven’t asked my name.” The statement was quiet but firm.

Jasper sighed as Fancy turned back to the stove with jerky movements. The oldest whore of the valley might have been jaded, but some things even asked naively, stung deeply.

“Won’t ever, either,” He replied firmly staring into the wide gray eyes. “You’ll get a name, eventually, if the Chairman sees to it, if not you are whoever the client calls you in the heat of seed spilling from their pricks, got it?”

“Jasper…” Fancy started.

“It is how it has to be.” Jasper said raising a hand, cutting him off firmly but with a gentle look to soothe Fancy’s ruffled feathers.

Jeremiah appeared in the doorway, “The Chairman wants him now.”

Jasper tugged the boy to his feet. “No secrets.” He warned and delivered him to the Chairman.

It made him shiver to see the stoic countenance, eyes hidden in shadow by glass lenses. The lack of emotion was a scary thing.

“Leave us, Jasper.”

“Chairman.”

He tried to put the sound of the shuffle bell gait from his mind as made his rounds for the night. Jeremiah had the watch. Fires were burning low in the pagodas, sounds of vigorous splashing in the bathhouse. A normal night that was far from normal. He looked up and watched the shadow cross the face of the moon.

“Bitch,” he muttered to the far removed goddess of his childhood.

Rubbing his neck, he made his way to the small shed off of the manor. Clean and simple, a table and chair, a wash basin, clothes hanging from a hook. He looked to his bed; Pretty’s nude body arranged artfully, the spill of midnight hair ink dark against stark white sheets.

“Lonely,” the whore muttered, gently easing his delicate foot to the bed, allowing the slender thigh to fall open, and revealing a heavy pink cock, bare groin, full balls, and slick opening. So very inviting even if it was all practiced motions.

Jasper’s boots were kicked off, trousers puddled on the floor. He made quick work of the buttons before sliding on top of Pretty’s warm welcoming body.

“Pretty,” he moaned against the sweet smelling neck, Pretty’s nails scoring his back as he opened for Jasper. His hips hitched as their cocks pressed together.

Fisting his hand in Pretty’s long hair, he crushed their lips together. He didn’t want the act, he didn’t want grand gesture. With his other hand, Jasper scrabbled at Pretty’s thigh, maneuvering the lean legs around his hips.

“Pretty,” he gasped as he sank in the warm heat of the concubine’s body. He rutted into the willing body, finding his pleasure in greed.

The thought of dove gray, wide eyes made him falter. He looked down at Pretty, his pretty face pulled into a worried frown. Ruby lips were swollen from his rough kisses. It was not as if Pretty could not handle it; some of the clients were rough in their pleasure. Jasper tended to be more judicial, giving as well as receiving pleasure.

He slowed his thrusts, taking Pretty’s weight in his hand. Nuzzling into the soft hair draped over white shoulders, he whispered, “Say my name, Pretty.”

The tight muscle clenched around him. “Jasper,” the voice, thick and husky, cultured and practiced heat against the sensitive curve of his ear.

He spilled helplessly into the willing body beneath him, in his mind’s eyes the naked vulnerability of sweet virginal dove. Almost as an afterthought, he gave Pretty’s cock perfunctory strokes, giving a modicum of pleasure as seed spilled between them.

Jasper rolled onto his feet and stretched his sore back. He searched his bureau for his stash of opium wraps, lighting one and inhaling the sweet smoke. Handing it over to Pretty, he pushed back the curtain to watch the sunrise.

By Apollo’s grace would Diana’s evil moonlit deed be undone.

Pretty coughed, “Amen."

*~*

Due to the lateness of the hour, Jeremiah dampened the tapers and turned the oil lamps down to a low glow. He had the watch, knowing by the tenseness of his brother’s shoulder that Jasper would seek out a release from that tension. He pushed aside thoughts of sweaty tangled limbs and Pretty’s predictable moans of pleasure. Clientele at the lateness of the evening on the cusp of dawn was very rare. At the lightening of the day, he would seek his bed as was customary. The only ripple in the routine was the strange actions of the Chairman.

When a new whore was purchased it was Jasper’s job to clean them up and find them a bed. The expected duties would be drawn out with a fresh eye from a night’s rest and warm food in the belly. For the Chairman to be sequestered until dawn was strange. He rolled his eyes at the thought of Jasper muttering portents and Diana’s curses, he did not subscribe to his brother’s superstitious nature. It was only moonlight, by Juno.

The door to the Chairman’s office was cracked with a sliver of flickering light dancing in the darkened corridor. He sought it like a moth to the flame, a guilty pleasure balancing on the edge of a knife. The Chairman was fair but brutal in terms of consequence. Jeremiah reminded himself resolutely that he did not hold to the same superstitions as his brother but even he could feel the very vibration of anticipation the air. The moonlight washed through curtained windows, unwilling to bow down to the rising sun.

Jeremiah and his brother were from the country side’s lowland marshes, where the villages were ripe in tradition to pay homage to the capricious gods and goddesses. Jasper was the first to make the trek into the city, hat in hand for his supper, sending what he could to an ailing mother and younger brother. Their father was long absent in their lives a wandering gypsy from the north country. Upon Jasmine’s death, Jasper brought Jeremiah into the city, in the carnival of delights and carnal pleasures of the red light district. Heartsick from his beloved mother’s death, Jeremiah fell in line with Jasper’s lead. Jasper was the brains and Jeremiah the brawn, traipsing from tavern to pub to brothel. They finally landed in the Crimson Valley at the good fortune of impressing the Chairman.

The logs crackled in the fire and all he could see was the two unsuspecting players in shadowed profile. The Chairman, an unholy glow reflecting from his spectacles, eased the soft robe from the boy’s shoulders. Jeremiah bit his tongue at the audaciousness of the action. He had seen the magistrate out himself many sands ago. From what he had gathered, the new concubine was a virgin and would draw quite the sum of gold in its purchase. The Chairman might be the one in control of Crimson Valley, but even he was subjected to the ruling financial interests of the benefactors.

The boy’s marble skin, perfection in firelight, was rosy and appealing. The Chairman seemed to feel the pull as he traced a single fingertip from shoulder to shoulder, down breastbone and upwards again. A brush to soft pink nipples had them puckering and the boy’s breath hitching quietly.

“Will they come for you?” The Chairman’s voice was pitched low and husky.

The boy’s head tilted, eyes heavy lidded, “They will most likely think that I am dead.” He sounded young and yet firm in an unknown resolution, a secret shared between them.

“More is the pity for you and their loss.”

“And it will be your gain.”

The Chairman cupped the pointed chin and turned the boy’s head downward, exposing the pale expanse of throat that worked nervously, belying the calm tone of voice.

“Yes.”

A creak in the floorboards had the Chairman dropping his hand and Jeremiah rearing back into the safety of the shadows. He glared at Fancy who shrugged nonchalantly. Biting his tongue, he shooed the concubine in front of him and winced as he heard the decisive snap of the office door being closed. Had the Chairman seen them, would he suspect prying eyes into his private sanctum in a moment that could be perceived as weakness? The very thought made his guts cramp nervously. He had witnessed his fair share of punishments for ‘transgressions’ and did not relish the thought of being reprimanded for his curiosity.

Fancy was waiting in the small room off of the kitchens. He sat serenely at the small bureau, his back to the mirror. Fancy was the only concubine that was lodged in the manor house, overseeing refreshment and small favors as clients selected the younger, more firm bodies for the night. Jeremiah was not sure if in doing so could be considered as an act of compassion by the Chairman. The old concubine would joke that if he had his way he would crack every mirror in the manor to ignore the passing of time stamped in his reflection. Fancy put a brave face forward each day but his tears fell salty cold on Jeremiah’s chest each night.

Their movements were a dance when Jeremiah joined him, Fancy took the plain hinged box from the bureau and Jeremiah selected Fancy’s favorite brush and comb. He helped Fancy settle on the down soft mattress, his movements still graceful and appealing.

The elaborated decorations that adorned Fancy’s fading red hair were placed in their designated slots, the velvet just as faded and worn. Jeremiah’s hands on the slope of his shoulders, squeezing and bunching the satin robe, turned Fancy until his back was Jeremiah. Fancy’s back stayed straight, posture elegant and inviting.

It was as the bristles crackled through the soft red mane that the rigidness would loosen, Fancy would curl forward and the brushing would be accented with small moans of pleasure.

Sliding from the bed, Jeremiah poured water into the basin. He swirled the cloth into the pool, his mind on what he heard, what he had saw. What would it mean to Crimson Valley and its inhabitants?

“Eavesdroppers never hear good things.” Fancy admonished from behind him.

“About themselves,” Jeremiah argued.

“About anything,” the concubine corrected.

“You aren’t going to go all philosophical on me, are you?” Jeremiah joined him once again, face to face.

Fancy snorted indelicately. “The only thing that I know, sweetheart, is nothing is ever free. And there are those of us that are not meant to understand the workings of the Valley,” the last was said pointedly and Jeremiah had the grace to flush.

He reached out and swabbed the damp cloth over Fancy’s cheekbones before moving to his eyes, it took a couple of trips of rewetting the cloth to wipe away the paint, lastly on the full beautiful lips. Jeremiah found it both an honor and humbling to see Fancy this way, naked and vulnerable, without the armor of makeup against the cruelty of time. The lines were more pronounced, skin pale but soft in lamplight.

Pushing the robe of Fancy’s shoulders, he drew the concubine into a kiss. For Jeremiah it did not matter how much was exchanged for Fancy’s body, how many had used him and took pleasure without return. What mattered was the light slowly dying from ocean colored eyes.

“The jewels of Neptune,” he murmured against Fancy’s mouth.

“Charmer,” Fancy huffed, his body sliding against Jeremiah’s in a practiced move of seduction, unconscious and jarring.

Jeremiah kissed his forehead, “Morning preparations ready?”

The spill of red hair was like dying flames on the mound of pillows, Fancy yawned, “Always.”

Jeremiah hung the concubine’s robe, put his own pile of clothing in the chair, and slid beneath the sheets. He drew Fancy’s warm body against his own. He was not like Jasper, hopping from whore to whore, ordering them to his bed, fucking them dispassionately.

Fancy needed affection, too, as misguided as he would argue against Jeremiah’s opinion. Jeremiah drew the slim thigh between his own legs and rested his hands against Fancy’s back and buttocks. He let his fingers trace over old scars from canings and floggings. With age came those who wanted a body to hurt, a warm hole to fuck, and the ability to walk away guilt free at the broken pile of flesh left behind. A bit of humanity bleeding into the soil, staining sheets that wiped away tears and blood, the fluids of heart break over and over.

Jeremiah was not naïve enough to say that he loved Fancy, for in their world there was only sex and lust, pain and release, and he knew that the old concubine felt the same. But, heart as jaded and world worn as those who labored in Crimson Valley, comfort was still craved. A certain level of affection of was offered and grudgingly accepted.

And Jeremiah gave it Fancy without reservation. The soft kiss to his chest above his steady beating heart was the only way Jeremiah knew that Fancy would reciprocate.

Tightening his hands in a reflexive protective gesture, Jeremiah thought of the Chairman. The way his fingers danced over the new boy’s skin. In all of his years in service to Crimson Valley, Jeremiah had never seen the promise of so much more in a simple touch.

He had seen the firmness of correction, the soothing of brokenness with efficient obligation, but not the hesitant brush of flesh against flesh. It was just more; it made Jeremiah think of two pieces drawing together like the old magnet that Jasper had given to him as a child.

What did it mean to the Valley, to whom were they speaking of, just who was the boy with no name in a world where only personas existed. It was an unknown name that carried a sense of heavy foreboding.

“Never good things,” Fancy murmured again voice heavy with sleep, as if reading his thoughts, his hand tucking under face, knuckles digging into Jeremiah’s chest.

“But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” Jeremiah replied more for himself than Fancy.

Fancy lifted his head, long red hair draping over his shoulder, “It hurts more to think that you actually have control, some weight in what will happen in our little corner of the gods’ playground.” Jeremiah trailed his fingers over the wrinkles beneath Fancy’s beautiful eyes, “Let it go,” Fancy admonished tiredly. He rested his head against Jeremiah’s chest once more, “It is for the best.”

Jeremiah agreed. He knew in all the years that he had known the concubine, he could have asked Fancy, in the shadow brightening of daylight, for his name, his true name. It would have been a bond between them, as lovers would. But it would only hurt, with no gain in the end outside of broken shards of useless memory. Under Fancy’s soft touch and guidance, he had learned to let it go. It was for the best.

He pushed all thoughts of the boy from his mind and tried to sleep. The unease settled into his bones. Maybe he was just as superstitious as his brother after all.

*~*

Mid morning light flowed into the tiny bedroom of Crimson Valley’s manor house. Fancy stared at the rafters, pondering what the day would bring. Easing out from under Jeremiah’s arm, he looked down at the sleeping form.

The watchman drooled on his pillow. Fancy’s lips twitched with affection. Tugging the blanket over him, Fancy started his day. 

The Valley was quiet. The green grass sparkled with diamond dew drop preening under the sun. The air felt good on his naked shoulders as he went about stretching his body, contorting it, breathing in, breathing out, and enjoying the slow burn and peace. He was the first up, like always. Glancing toward the dark pagodas, it would be hours yet before the clients stirred, looking for tea and biscuits, eyes averted, gait shuffling with the shame that came with Apollo’s kiss.

There was not much that he had not seen in his many years of service to Crimson Valley. Yet he pulled up short at the sight of the boy, sitting in the vestibule. His eyes were on the horizon, the robe loose about his shoulders with casual disregard. A natural, Fancy thought a little unkindly. The pointed chin rested in the cup of a delicate hand, the bells silent on the ankle of the drawn up leg.

How many times had he taken a new one under his wing? Soothed the fears and helped them to adjust to the harsh reality of life? Only to watch the affection of fragile friendship burn away under the roles they played avarice and greed turning sweet gentleness into sneering contempt. Fancy’s hand strayed to his sweaty hair, uncomfortable in his disarray in comparison to the youthful figure pining at the window.

His morning bath did not hold the same joy as his morning exercise. He went through his ablutions mindlessly. Wrapping a fresh robe about his body, he slipped back into his room careful not to wake Jeremiah. He could not bring himself to look into the mirror as he applied his makeup, paint hiding the line around his eyes, rouge tinting his lips that were still full and comely. On such a quiet morning, he would brush his hair until it crackled but the simple joy was gone. He twisted his hair to his nape and secured it with his butterfly pin. He shut the box with a resolute snap. It would not benefit him to linger in his rooms listening to Jeremiah’s quiet snores. He could not hide from the new boy forever.

Fancy’s steps felt heavy, plodding towards the kitchen that was his domain rather than the thick padded beds of the pagodas, twilight kissing his skin as he serviced men on his back or on his knees. Each step was silent against the hardwood floor but felt like time slipping through his fingers that he could not hold onto no matter how hard he tried. He tried to hold onto his own seductive appeal but knew it was futile. It was like trying to hold raindrops in his fist.

Men slipped in and out of his kitchen as morning burned into day, chugging back the expensive imported coffee, bracing themselves with downcast eyes. Fancy served them all with a quiet murmur and a respectful distance. 

It was by the Chairman’s right to have him put down, sold at loss, so many years before. The thought of dying in despair in a hovel or dank brothel was always a shadow of fear in his heart. The Chairman did not reassure him with words, just a simple acknowledgement by tipping his head as Fancy served his requested meals in the seclusion of his office.

The tell-tell step jangle of bells had him pushing his own dreary thoughts aside. In the quiet lull, the boy stood in shadow, hesitant to enter Fancy’s domain. Dove gray eyes were wide with uncertainty. 

Fancy could not bring himself to do it, play off the new boy with practiced disdain that Fancy had witnessed towards himself over and over from the other concubines in residence at Crimson Valley. The young concubines lauded their good fortune on their backs and seductive looks from the pagodas, little islands of debauchery that held them, dotting the bright green carpet of the Valley. Youthful ignorance that Fancy reminded himself over and over, so very shallow in comparison to the wisdom of age.

He snorted in derision, knowing that he if he could turn back the sands of time in a heartbeat by the king of the gods grace divine.

“Well don’t just stand there,” He met the boy’s gaze with a since of boldness. “Your belly will not get full on scent alone.”

Jangle, step, jangle, step, Fancy gritted his teeth and placed the plate of scones popping with blueberries in front of the boy.

“Coffee is forbidden,” the role of mentor falling onto his shoulders gracefully, Fancy fought the urge to roll them in defiance, “but tea there is plenty.”

“May I,” Fancy watched the slender fingers twist with nervousness, the cuffs of the blue robe pooling around slender boney wrists, the boy’s voice was low and husky, “Is there water?”

Perfectly plucked brows winged up in surprise. Fancy placed the heavy stoneware mug onto the table with a thunk. New whores always thought that they were entitled to the extravagances that the clients purchased with casual disregard. Water, indeed.

The boy pushed the scones around on the plate while sipping water from the shaking mug. With a huff Fancy stilled his wrist, feeling the fragile bone and soft brush of satin, “You eat when you can, never forget that. There won’t always be…it is best to keep up your strength.”

The boy blinked as he sat down the mug once more. The too old gaze belied the deceptive innocence in wide guileless eyes. The broken pieces of scones began to disappear. Fancy, satisfied with the boy’s progress wiped down spotless counters, checked the coffee, straightened the tea service, his movements were efficient. He flicked back the curtain to see if another customer made their way from the pagodas on the cobbled stone path. Trees, heavy with cherry blossoms, rippled with the whispered breath of a breeze.

“You are nice.”

Fancy froze. Fighting to keep his voice even he replied, “You have not been here long enough to make assumptions, boy.” Looking over his shoulder, Fancy turned and plucked the empty plate from the boy’s hand. “Learn now not to make such careless mistakes or dangerous assumptions.”

“How do I learn right from wrong in such a place?” The voice was a nervous, pain filled whisper, the boy’s head downturned. His face was hidden under a tumble of straw colored hair but Fancy’s could see the flush that had risen from nape to cheek.

“You learn,” Fancy’s thoughts swirled, years and experience rattling in the confines of his mind. It made him dizzy. Why should a simple slip of boy make him feel things that he thought was long gone, trampled under the steadiness of time. Placing the plate into the soapy bin, he lifted his shoulder defensively, “You learn.” 

The silence from his companion was unnerving. Fancy turned back to see the boy staring at his hair. Fancy’s hand went to the ornate butterfly pin that held his hair in a loose bun at his nape. “What?”

The boy looked away, “It is very beautiful.”

Blanching, Fancy hugged his arms to his chest. The pin had been a gift from one of his early admirers. He clung to it along with his memories, a desperate attempt to validate his life, that he had been wanted, at one time.

Still wanted to some degree, he thought of Jeremiah’s gentle fingers sliding the pin from his hair each evening with quiet veneration. His trembling fingers touched the butterfly’s wings once more.

“Thank you.”

In an almost strange harmonious dance, the Chairman stood in shadow just as the boy had. The Chairman and the boy were like two players in a drama unfolding for the gods. Fancy’s spine stiffened as he lowered his eyes in honest respect, without the tricks of the trade like the coy fluttering of eyelashes of his young companions. The Chairman had kept him despite evidence of the fact he was passed his prime and it was stamped for all to see on his face. The Chairman had kept him.

A firm hand settled on his shoulder and Fancy looked up in surprise. The current Chairman was younger in comparison to Fancy’s age. Fancy had never given him any reason for punishment. He had never tasted to kiss of the lash as he had from the Chairman’s predecessor. Fancy’s fingers tightened, thinking after all of his time as a whore, it would be a new enigmatic concubine that would cause trouble just as Jasper and Jeremiah prattled on about.

The Chairman’s hand moved from his shoulder to curl under his chin, tipping Fancy’s face upward, sunlight an unforgiving mistress to an aged face. He could not read the Chairman’s expression in the reflection of his lenses, all he could see was his own worn features and wary eyes. It was uncomfortable to see his countenance in such tiny dreaded mirrors.

The Chairman placed a gentle brush of lips twice against his skin; one for each cheek, like the gentry bustling about the city would in greeting. It took all of Fancy’s considerable acting skills to keep from gasping in surprise.

“I would like a cup of coffee if it is fresh.” The Chairman’s voice rumbled an oddly comforting vibration that soothed Fancy. So familiar, it brought back the day into sharp focus and centered him.

He nodded and dropped his eyes once more, “Yes, Chairman.”

The hand fell away. Fancy mourned its absent weight.

“Come.”

Fancy kept his head down as he listened to the scrape of chair legs against the polished wooden floor. It was followed by the step, jangle, step, jangle of the boy’s hesitant gait.

Alone in his kitchen, Fancy touched his cheeks, cupping them in his hands, wanting to hold on to the feeling of the Chairman’s touch like grasping raindrops in his fist.

*~*

“I want you to sit there, quietly,” the Chairman said firmly, pointing to the leather couch bathed in sunlight. The bone of elbow dug into his palm as he guided the boy into a seated position. He ignored the spark of awareness that travelled up his arm as the soft shaggy hair brushed against his skin.

He poured over his notes from his meeting with the chief contributor to Crimson Valley. He copied the list of demands dutifully and then sub-grouped the items in terms of what he agreed with and what was nothing but ridiculous arrogance flexing its muscle. 

Grimacing with distaste, he moved onto more pressing business.

The cup of coffee surreptitiously appeared at his elbow. Fancy’s quiet wake made him look up and appreciate the slender form wrapped in emerald green satin. The butterfly winked coyly as the concubine disappeared into the corridor.

Stretching his fingers, he reorganized his thoughts. The boy’s profile was just visible from over the rim of his delicate china cup. His posture had slumped somewhat, eyelids lowered to half mast.

Neither of them had gotten much sleep in the hours before dawn and daylight.

Jasper appeared soon after Fancy, his brow lowered as he shot a distrustful look at the boy. The Chairman handed over the list he had compiled calmly. Jasper’s brow furrowed and then it winged up in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak but caught the Chairman’s flash of warning. Instead he muttered, “The city?”

“And don’t forget to check with Fancy for the delivery inventory. He won’t take the blame if I don’t have my specific blend of coffee in the morning.”

The foreman rolled his eyes as he tucked the list into his vest pocket. His boots tread heavily signaling his retreat.

Oils, incense, fabrics, all dutifully logged neatly in his leather bound ledgers. The boy had long since surrendered for a nap. It would help pass the time and give Jasper time to make the necessary preparations.

The pagoda would have a gray door, a dove etched into its wood eventually. Honey would not be happy in the move further down the valley, being displaced from the pagoda of favor, the warm gold of his signature entryway overlaid with cool gray. If there were any complaints to be made, the Chairman would settle it.

His predecessor loved the coppery tang of blood. He preferred the longevity of welts made by the authoritative sting of the cane.

Predecessors, long lines, lives entwined, intrigue, deception, he twisted his pen between his fingers. Tossing it aside in frustration, he removed his glasses and polished the glass. His stomach had given up its fight to make him aware of his body’s need for food. His head was a more vicious adversary. The throb in his temples had become unbearable when the smells of cooking meat wafted through the manor. 

His glasses settled upon his nose once more, the Chairman pushed himself away from the desk. Just standing over the boy’s defenseless form, childlike and vulnerable in sleep, made his groin ache, his balls burning with need. His lips peeled back in a snarl at the magistrate’s careless disregard for such a beauty, such an opportunity to break virgin flesh.

I want to be the one to make him scream, dance upon my cock in agony…

Make him cry, make him beg, stuff that pretty mouth until he chokes on me….

Fingers curled into claws, only to clench into fists. He ultimately had no say. And it was the Chairman looming over the unsuspecting boy with hands ready for battle did the boy awake to, eyes widening in fear. He pressed back into the leather, his body curling protectively.

“It is time for a meal.” The Chairman stated stepping back and smoothing his tense hands over his vest and trousers. He pulled down his sleeves and straightened his cuffs with a twist of irritation, both at the boy’s fear and his own lack of self control. Fancy would undoubtedly be preparing a tray but it would be best to step away from his office, no matter the decadent thought of feeding the helpless boy from his hand. Watching the gentle nip of teeth, swipe of tongue to his fingers, to clean soft full lips, he shook his head quickly. He need to clear the air and his senses, before he did an action that would be fundamentally stupid and irreparable.

Like pressing the boy over his desk and claiming his virgin body for his own, damning them both and tempting the very fires of Pluto’s pit. 

Fancy had out done himself and the tension faded somewhat. A decorative salad, steaming bowls of soup, and crusty bread were artfully arranged on a tray. He could smell the fragrant tea permeating the air. Painted eyes widened in surprise before lowering submissively.

“Chairman,” Fancy’s familiar voice soothed even more.

“Fancy,” he acknowledge, motioning the boy to take his place against the pillows. He watched critically, noting that while the boy had a natural appeal, dance and limbering exercises were to be added to the tentative training orders he had begun to compile. The kneeling had a lack of grace that would not be desired.

As well as the art of food seduction, he barely contained a wince at the clattering of cutlery against the heavy stoneware bowl. Fancy gave a quiet huff before returning with the tea service. The slamming of the front door heralded the return of Jasper as well as the continuing of the day.

His foreman brushed past Fancy in search of food and drink. He met Jasper’s gaze. The man stalled the upward motion of his coffee cup to his lips. While gusting a cooling breath over its steaming contents, Jasper gave a simple nod of affirmation and it was all that the Chairman needed to know. The boy followed the Chairman’s sudden movements and pushed himself to standing.

The Chairman noticed Fancy standing back, ready to serve, ready to please, even with the slight defeated air about his shoulders.

“Excellent as always,” he said simply and watched as Fancy blushed beneath his thick coat of make-up. Even a whore did not take time to paint the delicate skin of his ears.

The Chairman led the boy out of the manor through the back sunroom full of lush blossoms and thick greenery, more of Fancy’s hand at work, and onto the cobbled path of the pagodas beneath the sway of cherry blossoms.

Each pagoda represented the concubine within in some manner. Pretty’s door was lipstick red, Diamond had hung crystal chimes from the eave. Subtle little hints of difference that would lead a lust hungry client into their respective dens of sexual debauchery and decadence.

The dove gray paint was wet and glistening as he motioned the boy inside.

Each pagoda had the same essential floor plan. The main room was open. A fireplace to the left, the thick bedding dominating the central focal point, and a single brazier lamp, swinging from its post, would cast delightful shadows to accompany the fucking. If the client was a voyeur, a large mirror hung above the mantle, reflecting the scene of debauchery below. Shadowed corners held a suspended swing, a hook, a padded bench for enjoyment as well as the more common tea pots and cups if a client wished for simple refreshment after sweaty exertions.

The boy’s bare feet whispered quietly against the wooden floor planks, accompanied by the jingle of bells. The Chairman watched as he made his way to the curtained doorway and through it. He followed at a careful distance to further observe his reactions to the reality that had become his life.

The whore’s private sanctum was hidden behind the curtain and Jasper had done well in such a short amount of time. The cupboard stood open displaying silk and satin, leather and lace. The boy’s hands trembled as he pulled open the drawers. Concubine robes folded neatly in shades of pearl, gray, silver, blues, and purples, the one red and one black shocking amongst its counterparts.

The boy’s neck turned crimson as he opened a small nondescript box that held training toys. He blanched at the rack of implements of pain. Finding comfort in material, he gravitated back to the cupboard, trailing his fingers over the satin, skipping the lace, and stroking the leather.

“Did someone wear these before?” The boy’s narrow hands darted about in a helpless gesture.

A jarring question made his eyes narrow.

“More to the point of your concern shall be you learning how to use each of these items, how to wear them as your own, as it will be you that wears all of them in one way or another.”

The boy ducked his head when he turned.

“Then it was decided?”

“Not officially but they will see reason. I will not let your underage status ruin Crimson Valley.” 

Licking his lips nervously, the boy held out trembling hand once again fluttering against the air, encompassing the small room, “Then why all of this?”

“Just because a client will not make use of your mouth or your ass until you are of age does not mean I will lose future profits on your ineptness. You need training.”

Gray eyes once again sparked a fire of defiance, “And who will train me?”

“I will.”

*~*

The Chairman stared at the piles of correspondence that Jasper had brought from the city as well as the newspapers, and a slim volume on the history of the neighboring empire.

Fancy refreshed his coffee and added a sweet biscuits as well. Always caring, never demanding, so sweet…the Chairman envisioned the haughty red head that claimed top billing of his youth.

“Fancy.” He turned in his chair and sprawled, his legs wide and loose. “Come here.”

He ignored the wariness, thinking once again of the defeated silhouette in the kitchen. Reaching out, he loosened the ties of Fancy’s robe, baring the concubine’s skin for his pleasure.

The skin was healthy but not as tight, muscles no longer defined but slender. Old faded scars were a roadmap of Fancy’s rise and fall in Crimson Valley. His cock was flaccid against his denuded groin.

The Chairman could not remember when a client had last requested Fancy’s service. He could look it up in his careful accounting amongst his ledgers, but he knew it had been quite some time. Jeremiah seemed to be the only one utilizing Fancy’s delights. Still, Fancy was a consummate professional and old habits clung stubbornly even as the roots withered. He met Fancy’s worried gaze.

“I want your mouth.”

Fancy’s fluid refinement in easing to his knees seemed to highlight the boy’s artless grace even more. He had not given any direction to the concubine, rather wanting to see how the service would play out in Fancy’s skilled hands.

Hands that slid seductively light against his thin woolen trousers, first with a teasing brush to his ankles encased in silk socks, and followed with a more firm squeeze to his thighs. Pale fingers danced over his cock before sliding away the cloth with practiced ease.

Fancy’s breath touched him and the Chairman wanted more. He speared his fingers into Fancy’s faded red hair and growled when they caught in the trap of the butterfly pin. He was going to discard it carelessly but Fancy’s touch stumbled. Such a shock against easy, practiced maneuvering that he paused. Fancy’s expression gave away nothing but his engaging seduction went horribly out of tune, the motions more perfunctory than appealing.

Instead, he eased the butterfly from Fancy’s hair allowing the bundled tresses at his nape to tumble down the slender back and across naked shoulders in satin soft waterfall. Fancy did not stop. He regained his sensual air, just slower, as if he was aware that the butterfly pin was captured in the trap of his hand. Cupping Fancy’s face, he pressed his thumb against the ridge of cheekbone. Ocean eyes lifted and watched as the Chairman placed the pin carefully on his desk, amongst the nest of newspapers and letters. The tension seeped from Fancy’s posture.

He had not become a successful chairman without understanding his property, their want in forming attachments to material things gifted to them as being favored whore for a time.

Winding the red hair around his fingers, the Chairman guided Fancy’s painted mouth to his cock. The warm wet heat surrounded him and his hips twitched restlessly. Keeping the pace gentle, his hands in Fancy’s hair, he fucked the whore’s mouth, watching the lips stretch wide to accommodate him.

When Fancy’s nose brushed against the curls of his groin, the Chairman spilled his seed down the tight vise of throat. The professional that Fancy was had him cleaning away traces of ejaculate with playful, coy little lapping licks until he was spit clean once again. Fancy’s gentle hands eased him back into the confines of his trousers and smoothed away the evidence of wicked, decadent pleasure.

Tugging on the hair twisted around his fingers, Fancy followed the persistent movement until his head rested against the Chairman’s inner thigh.

He stayed there until it was time to prepare the nighttime refreshments for the clients of Crimson Valley.

*~*

Firelight flickered. Gay laughter would erupt in discordant patterns. The Chairman refused to meet the boy’s eye. At least, he was not wearing a top hat and tattered, worn lace. Thank Jupiter for small favors.

A small dais was placed strategically in the middle of the gathering room. The high vaulted ceiling made for a cavernous location, illuminated by the crackling fire, swinging lamps rippled hypnotically as they swayed to and fro.

The invitations had been sent, with return responses collected and documented. Crimson Valley’s finest waited in the vestibule, like grapes to be plucked from a vine. Jeremiah collected the heavy parchment and Jasper noted each purchase for the evening’s debauchery.

The highlight of the evening, however, was the boy.

The Chairman watched as the boy’s wrists twisted in the leather cuffs, his hands curling into each other the small of his back. He tried vainly to hide behind his shorn hair as the vultures circled, taking their measure, and making note on the provided slip of paper.

The low laughter had him blushing hotly much to delight of the twisted audience.

There was no auctioneer shouting for bids or the inelegant pounding of a gavel. Instead, the Chairman collected each silent bid, wary that the esteemed invited guests did not forget themselves and touch him. No one had purchased that right. Yet. He would be touched, in less than a year’s time, when he reached his majority. A couple of board members had argued to push the sale through now and damn the consequences of an inquiry and subsequent fine. The Chairman resisted and held firm in his adamant denial. His argument was for the greater good of Crimson Valley, his seamier nature wanted to have time with the boy all to himself.

Fancy placed his coffee cup at near his hand at the ready. The old concubine paused in front of the boy before lowering his head and scurrying on to his duties. When the last bid was collected, the Chairman closed his door with a resounding snap. Taking his glasses off and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. A quick cleaning swipe, he replaced them and made his way to the boy.

Despite the heat of the fire and the rosy glow cast upon his ivory skin, the boy was shivering. The Chairman pointed to the hearth.

"Kneel there and warm yourself." Satisfied that the boy's was settled albeit still bound, the Chairman continued his duties.

Each bid was categorized from lowest to highest, each amount logged meticulously. A chance at taking the virginity of a whore was rare and he did not want to allow for debate or controversy. Finalizing the last bid, he set it aside to allow the ink to dry.

"It is decided?" The boy's hoarse whisper reached across the room. 

"You will do well to remember not to speak until spoken to," the Chairman said firmly under the uncomfortable weight of the dove gray gaze. The boy may have bit his lip in acknowledgement of the chastisement; his eyes however blazed as bright as the firelight, crackling with defiance.

The chairman placed the winning bid inside the folder along with his proof of purchase of the boy. He filed it and closed the cabinet quietly.

"It could have been worse I suppose, the sheep herder from the border or the tavern owner on High Street." He turned back to the boy. "It is the former barrister of the city. He is widowed and retired. His sons know run the family office."

The Chairman cleared away his desk and pondered the night's result staring into the firelight. The only thing that remained was to have Jasper collect the barrister and have him sign the boy's contract.

"Will it hurt?" The hoarse question broke into his thoughts. 

Steepling his fingers, he did not have it in him to correct the boy once again. Instead, the Chairman replied honestly, "Yes."

*~*

Pretty made his way to the bath house, hissing at the abused muscles that had been vigorously used the previous evening. As well as caused the resultant limp in his gait. The excitement of the evening had left the clients high on anticipation and randy for attention.

Which Pretty gave, on his back, on his knees, with his mouth, with his ass, over and over again.

Standing beneath waterfall of warm water, his fingers traced the bruises at his hips. There were blistering stings singing from his battered back as well. Would need to seduce the trick into capes, masks, and eventually blindfolds to tease the senses with his naked body but not the visual evidence of another’s hands on him, the concubine decided.

Shrugging into a warm robe, he combed his long hair quickly before pulling it back into a simple tail of hair; it fell wetly against his nape. Seduction and polished presentation was for the night, the day was for comfort and relaxation, lazy satisfaction and a small reward for another night’s job well done.

Each pagoda held a small covered portico off the back entrance. He used his to inhale the fragrant opium wraps and exhale the smoke into the outdoors so that it would not cling to the many fabrics of his little whorehouse. The boy had Honey’s recently vacated pagoda.

Pretty’s eyes narrowed. Honey had left the hammock tied between the posts. The boy, however, sat on the rickety wooden steps in the blue robe of favor, his arms wound about his skinny legs, the strand of bells silent against the early breeze and still form. He stared off into the horizon where the sun burned away the morning and passed into day. Jupiter’s balls even Apollo himself had found goodwill towards the boy in the way the sunlight caressed the golden hair.

Stopping off for a much needed hit of sweet, sticky smoke Pretty could not let such a prime opportunity to slide by. The boy might be protected by his virgin bells, but there was still a pecking order amongst the concubines and the boy was the bottom, just below the old fuck Fancy.

“Settling in?” He puckered his lips and expelled the smoke, his voice deceptively disarming.

The boy did not reply with words just nodded his head silently.

Pretty frowned but quickly smoothed his features, he had years before the crows started trampling on his face.

“Want a try?” He dangled the wrap in front of the boy’s nose.

“No thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Pretty felt bored, “So,” he sucked in another stream of smoke. Enjoying the burn, he coughed, “Who won your ass?”

That got more of response, a puckered frown and narrowed eyes as the boy finally looked at him. Pretty barely contained a nasty cackle of laughter at the naïve sop’s expense.

“The retired barrister.”

“My, my,” Pretty whistled with appreciation and flick the ash to the ground, “Gustav hasn’t frequented our fine establishment in a moon’s age, bless Diana.” His lips did curl upward when the boy blanched.

“Is he…” the boy started then stopped, his fingers twisted in the hem of his robe, “Is he kind?”

Pretty brayed loudly, “Kind? Venus’ tits, child, kindness? You do know that you are a whore, you realize that, right? You aren’t addled in the head?”

The boy stood quickly causing Pretty take a step backwards involuntarily. Without another word the boy stormed into his pagoda. The plain wood door slammed loudly.

“You have a lot to learn, pretty little virgin bitch,” Pretty purred. The other whores had not been kind to him at his beginning, making him fight for every inch earned in Crimson Valley. Fancy’s soft touches had been a bitter pill to swallow. Pretty learned his craft, fucked until he felt raw and shredded, and came out on top in the end.

On top of the short list of whores in Crimson Valley, he stubbed out the opium wrap with a decisive twist of his sandaled foot.

*~*

Spring burned into the bright greenery of Litha’s verdant gown. The Chairman watched from the window as Fancy guided the boy through stretches, turns, stands, and holds. The sun glistened off the sweat that formed from each of their torsos.

Fancy stepped back and even though he could not hear it, he could see the steady clapping to provide rhythm as the boy made his way through the one of the many dances, maneuvering through intricate steps designed to tempt, to seduce, to intrigue. The boy got out of time and Fancy’s hands went to his hips.

The old whore motioned for the boy to step back. He started again, showing the grace and fluidity of movement that the boy had to grasp. The Chairman could still see the haughty toss of brilliant red hair and the promise of sweet bliss in glittering ocean eyes. Fancy was but a shadow of his former glory.

Moving back to his desk to complete his paper work without distraction, the Chairman would take the next step in training the boy over the mid day meal. It was Fancy’s quiet movement that broke into his thoughts and made him blink wearily. Time had slid through the glass without his realization.

He could hear Fancy’s quiet counsel before the jangle of bells heralded the boy’s arrival.

“You have been training with Fancy?” A question he knew the answer to but gave him time to circle the boy, taking in the healthy pink flush of exertion, and sweat damp hair. The Chairman turned quickly to his desk. The blood flow to his groin left him dizzy. Taking a deep breath, he turned back. “Tell me what you have learned.”

The boy’s voice was quiet but held a note of confidence as he listed the different forms of dance as well as the formal and informal tea service. He lifted a hand and the boy’s words died out.

“Show me.”

The boy bit his lip nervously at the waiting tea service. He stumbled a bit in seating the Chairman on the fluffy pillows. A bright flush was more embarrassment than the sun against his skin. His hands became steadier as he knelt with an emerging grace, whispered the lyrical thanksgiving, tempting with the cup raised to chest high, and then kissing the rim with full wet lips. He placed the tea in front of the Chairman, his back straight and barely touching the rug.

He could envision the pale expanse of naked back as well as the dips and valleys. So pretty with my marks, so sweet the breaking under my hand as pain gave way to pleasure. The Chairman cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Very good, continue.”

The full food service was more disjointed the attempts at seduction jarring and comical. The heat of the Chairman’s ardor cooled considerably at the amateur display.

“No,” he grasped the boy’s wrist, “Like this.” 

Guiding the boy’s hand toward his mouth, the Chairman lowered his eyes, brushing the honey dipped bread against his lips. Pulling the boy’s hand back, he licked the sweetness away with a slow deliberate movement. Then he bit into the waiting bread with a flash of teeth before curling his lips around the morsel.

Dropping the boy’s hand, they stared at one another. The gray had disappeared into dark pools of a new desire. The flush had traveled down the boy’s neck and he swayed forward unconsciously.

With a cough, the Chairman stood hastily, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his woolen trousers, “Lesson over, clear this away.”

“Yes sir.”

*~*

“Remove your robe.”

The Chairman stared at the boy critically, with his arms crossed. Taking a deep breath, the boy went very still. Slowly, the pale hand trailed up the opposite arm, the ivory shoulder appeared from beneath blue satin, fingers brushed a dainty pink nipple, before a slight shudder of movement had the opposite shoulder dropping as well, to pool in the bend of the boy’s arms.

The night would be loud with the revelry of Mabon, another season, another reason to dance, drink, and fuck. The Chairman would keep the boy at his side so that he could observe his future occupation. For now, there were other ways to train.

Blue satin puddle at the boney ankles, hiding slim narrow feet. The Chairman studied him once more. The boy’s hands were loose at his sides, but the tension in his arms gave away his nerves. The red stain of a blush heated the sharp cheekbones due to evident arousal against the bare groin. 

Either Fancy or another whore had instructed him. Or rather, the way the gray eyes were wary, the boy was very observant.

“On the bed.”

A slow stutter step, a leg bent and propelled the boy backwards onto the bed. His feet settled at the edge, toes curling forward, as the boy rested his weight on his elbows. The knees were pressed together and fear was much more evident.

“There is only so much I can do to prepare you for the completion of the barrister’s contract,” the Chairman said conversationally, opening the bedside table drawer and producing a small bottle of clear fluid. “However, it does not state that you cannot begin to prepare yourself.” 

With a gentle hand, he pulled the boy into a sitting position, stopping him when he went to drop his legs against the bedside.

“Give me your hand.” He pooled the thin oil into his palm and dragged the boy’s fingers through it. “You know what you need to do?”

The boy’s body went bowstring tight. His head turned sharply to the side, his fringe of hair hiding his face. The Chairman place a sharp stinging slap with the flat of his free hand to the boy’s naked thigh, “None of that.”

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” it came out in an angry hiss. The gray eyes lifted from beneath the puckered forehead, “Sir.” The word stabbed like a curse.

“Then show me.” The Chairman replied blandly, desperate not to reveal his own desires.

Seduction forgotten under the tumult of nerves and anger, the boy jabbed his fingers into the oil once more. His breathing hitched as his thighs opened slowly revealing his most secret part to the Chairman. Nervous fingers circled round and round the tight opening, making it glisten in the daylight.

“Have you ever?”

“No sir.”

The Chairman’s voice was hoarse, “Then goes slowly.”

Fingertip, first knuckle, knees came together only to be forced open under the sheer force of will once more. A gasp broke the silence as the finger delved deeper.

“Now another,” the Chairman coaxed, being drawn into the web of a beautiful vulnerable boy.

As the motion repeated, the trembling knees increased into quivering thighs. A choked hiss and a whispered, “Please.”

Tears drenched defeated gray eyes.

The Chairman turned and pulled out a slim wooden cylinder with a slightly wider base. He coated it with oil liberally. Stepping between the spread thighs, he covered the boy’s wrist with his own, stilling the jerky movements that did not give pleasure.

“Slowly,” The Chairman helped the boy to remove his fingers from his body.

He forced himself to maintain the boy’s gaze. To not give into the temptation of watching newly stretched muscle grasp at retreating fingers. Leaning forward slightly, he placed the cylinder at the tiny opening.

“Breathe.”

The polished wood slid inside the boy’s body with a steady motion. The boy’s head fell back and his knees opened even more in submission.

The plea, “Please,” held more, a darker sweeter tone of promise.

Placing his hand against the bed for balance, the Chairman leaned down. The boy’s eyes met his own beneath the hood of fluttering eyelashes.

“Good boy.”

There was a crashing of lips, feet spasming, ankles crossing at the small of the Chairman’s back. The mouth was sweet and open, gasping and begging, his taste fresh and addicting. The Chairman took his fill before easing back to allow a breath between them. He pushed the tumbled hair from the boy’s forehead and felt him press into the touch, the curve of his skull resting in the palm of the Chairman’s hand in a movement akin to a fragile trust.

“My sweet little dove, so very sweet.” He breathed before taking the boy’s mouth once more.

Mine.

Pluto, damn them all by the curse brought by Diana’s moon.

MINE!

*~*

Twitching back the curtain, Fancy smiled at the thick fall of snow swirling and dancing about swaying, bare limbed trees. Another year had settled down for the long sleep before the fragile bursts of life come the spring. His smile faded as he touched cool finger tips to his own face. Another year, digging in and placing evidence of more downward spiral into old age, he had just that morning fought with the strands of silver appearing in his hair, vicious and multiplying.

Jeremiah pulled his hand away and placed a gentle kiss into his palm before seeking his morning coffee. Fancy let his mind wander back to the peaceful snow covered fairy land once more. Embracing the beauty, he tried to let go of what he could not change.

A shuffle of boots reminded him that he needed to start his day, Jeremiah out from under foot, Jasper would soon replace him, and the Chairman would be expecting his breakfast. He almost missed the subtle jingle of bells. The boy had become much more graceful, more in control of his body. Fancy turned and felt his lips twitch upward once more.

The boy had bundled himself in a thick, fur lined robe.

“Cold?”

The hood was pushed back as the boy nodded, “Not use to it.” He hung the robe from a hook and then made his way to the fireplace to warm his hands.

No matter the promises Fancy made to himself, he broke every one. The boy was just too alluring, to sweet for the future in store for him. And if Fancy wanted to comfort, snuggle, and soak up that gentleness for a time, Juno’s wrath he would bear.

Or the Chairman’s.

“Is there anything I can help with for the evening, Fancy?” The morning biscuits and coffee were ready as well as ham and sausages. Meat was a rare treat and saved for the colder months of the departure of Mabon and the arrival of Yule.

The old concubine motioned to the holly arrangements. “Those will need to be displayed throughout the manor.”

The pale fingers touched the red berries and nodded, “For Yule.”

Fancy’s forehead puckered with a frown. The lush berries were like drops of blood on fair skin. It would be inevitable for the boy to learn pain but not yet, Fancy would hold it off with sheer will if he could. “Yes, it is a slower time of year; most do not like to make the trek to Valley in such weather.”

They went about their work, dressing the vestibule, viewing room, and gathering room with springs of holly, boughs of pine, draping red satin and gold lame, its metallic sheen eye catching in fire light. Pine cones nested at the base of the tapers lining the corridors and entrance ways. 

Fancy observed the boy over and over, with sidelong glances and barely contained bursts of joy. He was beginning to show a refinement in taste as well for adornments and simple service of food and drink, more sure than so with his own body, like it was a muted talent that had always been there and was slowly beginning to come to light.

Who had the boy been before?

Fancy brushed it aside and let it go as soon as he thought it. It did no one any good to think of before.

Not that the others held the same philosophy, Fancy thought, his mouth tightening. Jeremiah liked to whisper conspiracy theories while sweat and semen dried on their skin. Jasper gave the boy a wide berth muttering about the ill will of a bad moon and calling the goddess Diana a bitch quite rudely. Fancy did not understand the foreman at all. For one that did not profess to follow the teachings of the gods and goddesses, Jasper held on to his superstitions tightly in a white knuckled grasp all the while profaning blasphemy with disregard.

Fancy did not believe in all that nonsense, he gave up fanciful notions even as a child. The world was too small, too cruel to be manipulated by gods and goddess resting in their temples high in the sky, sheer lunacy.

The morning pressed on into midday. Fancy taught the boy how to make sweet biscuits, rolling and cutting the dough, checking the golden bits of dough as it baked so that they would not become too hard. Fancy laughed at the white dusting of flour across the boy’s nose. When he wrinkled it, he was adorable. The boy batted at it and spread more to his cheeks. Crossing his pretty gray eyes, the boy joined in with Fancy’s merry laughter.

It died when his face went as white as the flour. Fancy looked over his shoulder. The Chairman glowered from the doorway. Fancy blanched as well and handed the boy a damp cloth, “Tea sir?” He coughed when his voice came out in a squeak.

The Chairman’s frown deepened into a scowl. Something had happened around the time of Mabon. The boy had gone through a period of curling into himself and the Chairman had become reclusive in his office at about the same time. Fancy often found him staring off into space with his appearance uncharacteristically disheveled. More and more of the simple training measures were handed blithely over to Fancy, which was strange to the concubine who had spent long years in the Valley. The Chairman took training new concubines very, very seriously.

“I just received a post from McGentry and Grimes,” the Chairman began.

Fancy felt a curl of dread. McGentry and Grimes were large financial donors to Crimson Valley. They did not partake in concubines for their personal pleasure to sate their lust. Instead, they liked to hold public demonstrations complete with a select guest list. Demonstrations that was high on humiliation and pain, low on restraint in Fancy’s opinion. The holly blood premonition seemed to be coming to fruition. The gathering room would be covered in oil skin cloth; flesh would be painted with blood and tears.

Holding his breath, Fancy dared not to ask the questions that burned on his tongue.

When?

Who?

What kind of demonstration?

He risked a look beneath his eyelashes at the boy. The boy’s head was cocked to the side with naïve curiosity. In that moment, Fancy was glad that he was still bound to his virgin contract. That it was not his ass that could be on the block for the sadistic bastards.

The Chairman raised his hand and Fancy felt faint. Surely not, not now after all the time of disuse, he thought inanely. Instead, the Chairman snapped his fingers, a shocking sound breaking the breathless anticipation. The boy made his way to the Chairman’s side meekly, his head down in subservience.

“Have the gathering room prepared for guests numbering ten that will also include me, for this evening. McGentry and Grimes have requested a hook.” The Chairman placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and turned him.

Fancy bit his tongue.

WHO?

“Jasper will have Diamond prepared and presented before the guests arrive.”

When they were gone, Fancy slumped against the counter. Diamond was a fine choice, liking the sharp edge of pain, the fine edge of danger. And the Chairman would be there to keep it from going too far.

But it would be Fancy that cleaned up the mess, the blood and the tattered body of broken pain slut of a concubine.

Jeremiah sidled up next to him, a quiet peaceful presence. Just the brush of his knuckles against the back of Fancy’s hand was calming. Fancy sighed and leaned against Jeremiah, his head resting of the broad shoulder of his, not lover, not companion, and yet friend was an uncomfortable, unheard of term as well as concept. For Fancy, it was just Jeremiah, and that was enough.

Jeremiah’s fingers entwined through his own and held them.

*~*

The Chairman could tell the boy was nervous. He had all but avoided contact since Mabon to get himself under control. Neither of them would withstand the fall out of breaking such an important contract.

He had needed time to refocus himself and his insidious goal. In the spring, the barrister would take the boy’s virginity. But with scrupulous attention to detail, the Chairman could cage the little dove for his very own. As much as one could own the heart of a whore, he was not that naïve.

Opening the drawer of his desk, the Chairman pulled out the wide wooden bit and harness. The boy tracked his movements and paled.

“Not everything is as it seems.” He said. “Take this.” He let the bit swing from side to side, twisting the buckle between his fingers. “This is used during pain training here in Crimson Valley. When the pain becomes too much, you simply bite down. It helps to focus but that is a lesson for another time.”

“When you train me again?”

The Chairman frowned. How had he let the boy stray so far from etiquette’s demand? His whores were expected to be seen and not heard around him as a general rule. The boy had wormed his way into the soft, uncomfortable parts of the Chairman and that was dangerous for them both, especially without the contract being fulfilled. And most especially when it took all of the Chairman’s control not to cast caution to the wind and sate his lust in the boy’s body, to hell with the contract and their very livelihood, if not their life’s blood that the board would demand, legally or not.

“I have not stopped training you.” The Chairman replied blandly.

“But you haven’t…we haven’t…was I supposed to?” The boy tripped over his words, hands making vague gestures toward his groin, his face flushing with embarrassment.

He covered the boy’s mouth with his hand, stiffening his spine at the unconscious dart of tongue against his palm. The boy’s eyes were wide as the bit was placed against his closed mouth.

“Open.”

The full lips parted slowly and the Chairman was near the end of his patience, his resolve fracturing. He pushed the bit between the boy’s teeth, forcing his mouth to open wider. The bit buckled into place, he stepped back and surveyed the boy.

The jaw worked, the expression his face was discomfort, his nose wrinkling. Frustration grew and a heavy breath of anger blew through flared nostrils. Trembling hands went to the bit and touched the leather pressed against his sharp cheekbones. The Chairman stopped him before his hands could travel up the harness to the restraining buckle holding it in place.

“You will not touch it again or I will put you in cuffs as well.” The defiant spark glittered in gray depths. The Chairman considered, “Or would you rather I put you in cuffs to protect you from yourself?”

The boy turned his head quickly in the Chairman’s grasp, an action becoming a familiar way of expressing anger, frustration, or a slow emerging defiance. His head tipped downward, his hair tumbling into his face to give the boy a moment of peace, a shred of privacy within his own thoughts.

The Chairman jerked his chin up quickly. “You will not hide from me and I will take care of you, whether you understand your needs or not.” He eased the boy’s hands down to the small of his back. He held them loosely, feeling the bone scrape against each other as the boy twisted them in his grasp.

He pressed his lips against the boy’s temple, pulling him against his body, “Do you need the cuffs?”

The boy struggled, his arms, his body, his mouth, twisting and writhing until he slowly ground into a halt. He slumped against the Chairman, his head thumping against the Chairman’s chest. Holding the boy’s wrists in one hand, he brushed his bangs back from his forehead. Wide gray eyes blinked slowly.

“Do you need the cuffs?”

The boy nodded and then burrowed back against his chest. He would have gotten the cuffs no matter his answer, the Chairman thought as he eased the boy back onto his feet, allowing him to find his equilibrium. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction when the boy’s hands stayed in place as he went back to his desk and gathered the soft, leather cuffs.

The Chairman removed the boy’s robe from his body, carelessly tossing the blue fabric onto his cluttered desk. The boy lowered his head slowly, a silent submission in complete contrast of his earlier display of anger. In response to the proper show of respect, the Chairman kept his own touch light and gentle.

He summoned Jasper and went over the itinerary for the evening’s demonstration. The Chairman noted how the boy remained still with the exception of an occasional shiver. Removing his glasses to clean them, he added a length of gray velvet that would wrap around the boy’s hips. Not the warmth of a robe but appropriate attire for the viewing pleasure of McGentry and Grimes.

When they were alone once more, he pondered the boy standing just behind him. Turning his chair, he tipped the boy’s chin up so that their eyes could meet, his thumb trailing over the leather harness.

“I told you not all was what it seemed. The bit is used for pain training, yes, but it also gives support to training in silence as well. You have never been exposed to a demonstration that we are having this evening. You could very well break protocol in your inexperience and bring shame not only to yourself but me and Crimson Valley.” He moved his thumb to trail over the wooden bit clenched between the boy’s teeth. “If you are afraid or want to have some sort of response, bear down on the bit.” His hand dropped into his lap, wiping his fingers against the soft fabric of his trousers. 

“It will help.”

*~*

The evening began with Jasper escorting the honored guests into the gathering room. The Chairman welcomed each one with a single hand shake before returning his hand to the kneeling boy’s shoulder. Some made mention of the virgin bells or the bit firmly entrenched between the boy’s teeth. The Chairman answered politely but brushing away the inquires with fluid effortlessness. The boy was not for sell, not until the last vestiges of spring when the barrister completed the contract.

The guests were seated. The twin concubines Azure and Sky helped Fancy with the refreshments for a rare gathering guests not interested in moving onto the pagodas but to witness a demonstration. They would wait in the vestibule with Jasper to be on display if any other customer hazard the cold snowy evening for a warm night with a willing body. 

Fancy seated himself quietly near the hearth and began to pluck the strings of small lap harp. Honey, Pretty, and Scarlet teased the senses with an erotic dance, that played with hollows and valleys of their naked bodies, intermingled with tosses of ebony, scarlet, and tawny long hair. Their movements were accompanied with small finger cymbals. The crowd applauded politely at the final pose, a simulation of Pretty being impaled from both ends. Scarlet was at his mouth, his hands on Pretty’s face, and Honey at the rear with his hands biting into the cut of Pretty’s hipbones. The three dancing concubines knelt low with a bow before joining Azure and Sky.

Fancy made one last offer of refreshment, wine and coffee, as Jeremiah adjusted the hook at the proper height. He lowered the lamplight to a subtle glow, causing shadows to dance on the surface of the walls. The Chairman noted Jeremiah’s arm around Fancy’s waist as they too exited the gathering room. He did not feel any ill will at the gesture of support. The Chairman knew that Fancy did not care for McGentry and Grimes and their preferred form of entertainment.

There was a hush as the lamps were lowered and Diamond’s entrance was a silent graceful dance of beauty. McGentry was the attendant and Grimes was the purveyor of pain. 

Diamond’s face was painted an almost ghostly white the only color being his tinted blood red lips. His pale blue eyes were exotic when coupled with hair the color of a raven’s wing. The concubine had its abundant length twisted up tightly and off his neck, clear jewels sparkling from within its depths, the signature of his name.

The fire cast a rosy glow on Diamond’s pale skin. McGentry bound his wrists in thick black manacles. The concubine offered no resistance as his arms were raised above his head, the chain attaching to the polished silver hook.

McGentry drew out each instrument that Grimes used. A gentle warm up with a suede flogger, the ink black tails a contrast to Diamond’s flesh. A change to another flogger with braided tails made Diamond twist more visibly, pink flesh becoming more and more apparent beneath the trails of sweat washing away the white body paint.

Diamond cried out when Grimes began to paint designs into his skin with the single tail whip. His body jerked to and fro under the lash. Welts burned red, patterning up and down his arms and legs, as well as across his back. The Chairman’s eyes narrowed when the whip was exchanged for a smaller item, tucked within the clutch of McGentry’s hand.

Each instrument had been detailed in the request for the evening, ending with a single tailed whip. The boy whimpered and pressed against his leg. The Chairman looked down in mild surprise. He had been stoic even under the most vicious strokes of the lash. The Chairman looked back to see Grimes plastered against Diamond’s back, strange for him because Grimes got off on pain not fucking. Some of the strikes on Diamond’s skin had broken flesh. The man was getting blood on his fancy satin waistcoat.

Diamond’s cry was thin and keening, startling. The Chairman realized that Grimes was placing thin cuts against the welted skin. The flash of cold steel was bright in firelight. Cutting had not been in the agreement. It was too easy to go wrong in the heat of the moment. Besides that a scarred whore held less value. Squeezing the boy’s shoulder for reassurance, the Chairman stood and made his way onto the oilskin.

It was not surprising to see the remnants of Diamond’s release dotting the dull fabric. McGentry scowled but the Chairman merely raised an eyebrow. His hand went to his vest pocket and withdrew the post outlining the evening on folded parchment.

“The lit’l bitch begged fer it,” McGentry snarled under his breath, as not to distract the guests, their friends from the continuing spectacle.

Ignoring the beginning twittering of those gathered as well as the slow rise of whispering, the Chairman stepped up to Diamond’s suspended form and grasped the concubine’s chin in his palm. He studied bloody, bitten lips intermingled with caked paint and pain glazed eyes. Diamond had gone deep, riding the pain, finding his pleasure within it. Looking to Grimes, the Chairman released the concubine’s chin.

“You will pay restitution.”

Grimes looked as if would argue, but he snapped his teeth together and refocused on Diamond. The Chairman felt disgust as he lapped at the blood pooled on Diamond’s neck.

The rest of the evening was anticlimactic. The guests mingled before some departed and others moving on to select a concubine for the evening, venturing down the snow covered cobbled path towards the pagodas. Fancy returned meekly to help Diamond off the hook, bearing most of his weight and a wrapping his damaged body in a warm soft blanket.

The Chairman settled Grimes’ account and reminded him of his standing in Crimson Valley with a calm professional air. “You pull a stunt like that again; I will revoke your rights here in the Valley.”

“I pay too much money,” Grimes reminded, handing over the leather pouch of gold, “The board would take none too kindly at you turning me away. ‘Sides, not like I don’t know Diamond, and what he needs.”

“Does not matter,” the Chairman returned, “Diamond’s care is ultimately under my authority and the board would take none too kindly,” he sneered, spitting out Grimes’ words, “in the irreparable damage to an investment such as Diamond.”

“Not like you don’t have any more broken, damaged pain sluts in this place,” Grimes seemed to want the last word, “Maybe next time, I’ll take Fancy for a spin.”

The Chairman’s hand shot out and tightened around Grimes’ neck, ignoring the indignant sputtering and gasping calls for McGentry, “Remember, my word is law in the Valley. Fancy’s not for sale to a butcher like you.”

The lewd laughter made him grind his jaw. The Chairman waited until McGentry and Grimes made their departure before standing beside Jasper.

“A tight watch tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

“I will be sending out posts to the board tomorrow.”

“I’ll be making another trip to the city?”

“Yes.”

He checked on Diamond. Fancy had already drawn a warm, soothing bath, and was examining Diamond’s back and upper thighs.

The old whore answered his unspoken question, feeling the weight of questioning concerned gaze.

“Some will scar but Grimes was careful.” Fancy’s ocean eyes were serious. “The worst is on the underside of his buttocks.” The old whore’s hands faltered slightly, “It won’t be too noticeable.”

The Chairman crossed his arms hugging his chest and watched Fancy lower Diamond into the water. The younger concubine hissed in pain but his color was good. He had not slipped into shock, the Chairman’s was grateful of small favors. Diamond was as aloof as most of the concubine in Crimson Valley but not as cruel. The Chairman heard the whispered thank you to Fancy and saw the old whore’s small smile in return. Then Fancy looked over the Chairman’s shoulder and frowned.

The Chairman cocked his head. It was as if Fancy expected to see someone there.

The boy!

In all of the resultant excitement of the demonstration, he had left the boy unattended in the gathering room. A feeling of dread swelled in his stomach. He left the boy whose very pure nature was a clarion call for the unscrupulous and lust driven. He had left the boy vulnerable, bound and gagged with no way to defend himself. By Pluto, the boy probably thought he had no right to fight back despite the virgin contract. He was the protector of the contract and if he could waver in his resolve, then those who lingered would be hard pressed not to take advantage. His slip of vigil made his blood pump hotly in his veins. By Jupiter, he thundered through the corridor to the gathering room.

The boy was not where he left him. The Chairman’s stomach dropped to his toes and seeped onto the oilskin cloth with his fear. Taking a calming breath, he scanned the room ready to ring the warning bell and a call out for Jasper and Jeremiah to search the pagodas, the surrounding hills, thinking that whoever it was would not get far, despite the damnable damage being done.

A quiet scratching broke through his thoughts. In the shadows, the boy was curled in a corner. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his head against his knees, making himself very small and leaned against the wall. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the plaster.

The Chairman’s knees crashed painfully as he dropped to the boy’s side. He had him in his arms, one securing his back and the other supporting the bend of his knees. His lips were in the boy’s soft hair, whispering nonsensical words, apologizing without actually saying the words I’m sorry unable to let them pass his through lips, despite feeling it bone deep. The bit and cuffs thudded against the floor. The Chairman stood with boy cradled in his arms.

His steps were quick. The boy’s eyes were wide and unseeing and it was worrying. Stopping by the bathing chamber, he noted that Fancy had Diamond on the table laying face down, soothing his back with homemade ointments and quiet words.

“Fancy,” His voice sounded desperate to his own ears.

The old whore looked up in surprise that quickly turned to concern.

“Chocolate and toast, for the boy, my rooms, as quickly as you can,” he continued on to his chambers knowing that Fancy would carry out his needs efficiently.

He placed the boy gently onto his bed. He watched as the small form merely curled around his knees once more. Wetting a cloth from the ewer, the Chairman sat beside the boy.

“I took away your voice, little dove,” he said it softly with the tinge of apology. “You saw much and I know you might have questions, yet you think you still do not have your voice.” He wiped the boy’s face, washing away sweat and dried spittle from the corners of his lush mouth.

The rattling of the tray distracted him. Jeremiah was hesitant to make his way into the room. The Chairman merely motioned to the bedside table. “Fancy?”

“Still with Diamond, he thought, well I thought, I,” Jeremiah twisted his hands in front of him. The Chairman nodded in obvious understanding and Jeremiah slipped back into the darkened hallway breathing an audible sigh of relief. The Chairman turned back to the boy.

“Let’s sit you up,” He helped the boy to drink the warm chocolate but could not persuade him to partake of the dry toast. Gray eyes slowly became aware and the Chairman felt a slight pulling away, as if to put a modicum of distance between him and the boy.

“This must be more of what you are used to, personal servants, being served while you lay abed.” The Chairman tried for humor, the boy merely looked away.

Warming his hands by rubbing them together, the Chairman began a slow massage across the boy’s shoulders and arms. Being bound for such a time was hard on untried muscles. The boy hissed in pain at first but begrudgingly relaxed under his touch. The glazed look in his eyes had been replaced with a heavy weariness.

The Chairman turned back the blankets and tugged off the velvet wrap around the boy’s slim hips. He was tempting fires of fate to keep the boy naked in his bed. Stripping his own clothing efficiently, he piled them in the leather chair beside his bed. He needed the reassurance the boy would be safe come morning. His stupidity making him much more cautious though the Chairman hoped the night’s events would hopefully stay his ardor.

The boy seemed to need the comfort as well. He curled his slight body within the circle of the Chairman’s arms. His eyes fluttered shut as he nuzzled against the skin of the Chairman’s chest, near his heart.

With one hand in the boy’s hair, the Chairman allowed himself to touch, a slow meandering journey from nape to the curve of the boy’s rounded buttocks. Up and down, while he stared at the cracks in the plaster of the ceiling. He tugged the boy’s leg to settle between his own. His possessive need somewhat soothed in having the boy next to him.

As the dawn slowly began to break, Apollo’s chariot advancing his journey across the celestial path, the Chairman muttered the words sleepily, the words he would not say if the boy were awake.

“I’m sorry, my dove,” with the easing of his spirit, the Chairman allowed himself to slip into slumber.

Unaware of the boy, eyes open and staring into the brightening of the day, soft with the embrace of snow heavy clouds.

*~*

Snow melted into spring. Fragile green spears of life appeared in mud, wet earth. The cherry trees shook off the remaining ice and began producing buds of life that would unfurl into heavy pink and white blossoms. Sands fell steadily with passing of time.

The boy knelt behind Fancy on the bed brushing the long auburn hair over and over. Pressing in gently to the scalp, he followed with long sure strokes down the length, Fancy smiled at him in the mirror careful not settle on his own reflection for very long.

“You are getting better,” He remarked. The boy answered with a shy smile as his nimble fingers began plaiting and twisting the heavy hair into an intricate arrangement, pinning it in place and finally securing the look with Fancy’s trademark butterfly. He waved his hand at the paints and pots sitting on the bureau. “Do you want to try the makeup again?” Fancy looked back into the reflective surface at the boy.

“Yes.” The boy’s voice was startling right next to his ear with a warm puff of breath. He met Fancy’s glance in the mirror and huffed a small laugh, pressing his forehead against the green of soft robe. The old concubine waited but it bubbled up into much more, soft laughter spilling from the boy’s mouth.

“Really,” Fancy said archly lifting his brow. He turned to the boy curled on his side with his hands on his stomach, “All the character acting lessons have failed have they not?”

The boy pushed himself up on his elbow and tried for contrite. He failed miserably in Fancy’s opinion. “Sorry,” the corners of his lips twitched as well. Taking a breath and raising a hand for a moment, the boy schooled his features. “Yes. I would like to try another lesson with the makeup, if it would please you, Fancy.”

Clucking his tongue, Fancy turned and they both settled. He was surprised when the boy chose the over the shoulder method, applying it to Fancy as he would if it were his very own faces. The boy’s countenance was serious as smeared the paints and rouges, accenting Fancy’s eyes artfully if still a bit ineptly. It would not take too much to fix and darken in concealment for the old whore’s satisfaction.

“Nice.” He said approvingly.

The boy murmured his thanks, sliding from the bed. Long, lean arms stretched above the tumble of straw colored hair. He leaned side to side, restoring circulation to unused muscles. 

Oh to be so young again, Fancy thought, the brush twisting in his fingers restlessly. With a sigh, he turned back to the mirror, his intent on putting up his defenses. Soft fingers touched his wrist, he met the boy’s eyes once again, gray to ocean blue.

“You don’t need it,” the boy’s words tumbled over themselves, “you are more beautiful without it.”

Stunned silent, Fancy stared at the boy. The stand-off was broken by Jasper signaling for the boy. “The Chairman wants you.”

The boy trembled when Jasper followed the statement with, “It is time.”

Fancy watched as the boy seemed to shore up his courage, straightening his shoulders and following Jasper. In more ways than one does the Chairman want you, he thought blandly before turning to mirror again.

He tried not to snarl at the deep grooves around his eyes and mouth. Forget youth, and give him wisdom to save him from the foolish ideas of the young. Tossing aside the brush, Fancy covered his face with his hands.

He hoped the boy was able to make it through. That he would be able to retain that shy smile and unfettered laugh.

Wishes were as consistent as raindrops. Fancy stiffened his spine and went about applying his makeup properly.

*~*

The Chairman shook the barrister’s hand; setting aside the finalized contract affixed with both signatures and waxed seals, to dry.

He cleared his throat and pushed on resolutely when the barrister lifted a questioning brow. “He has had the most minimal of training as spelled out in the contract. No oral penetration and only the barest of anal stretching exercises with the approved implements.”

“I know this already. What are you saying?”

The Chairman ground his jaw in barely contained frustration. “He will not live up to the standards of Crimson Valley.”

The barrister chuckled, “Of course not and he is not expected to be.” The older man studied him and the Chairman almost felt a need to squirm under the searching gaze. “I will not damage him. I am not like some of the animals that frequent this place.”

“No, sir, I did not mean to imply…”

“Ah, here he is.” The barrister left the Chairman with his mouth gaping.

He watched as Gustav Harris made a surveying circle around the boy, noting the crimson blush high on his sharp cheekbones with a murmur of approval. The Chairman swallowed a growl as the barrister put a proprietary hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder, the glossy blue satin fabric of his robe bunching slightly.

“My room has been prepared?”

“Of course,” The Chairman gave a small bow of respect, “Jasper will see you to your accommodations for the evening.”

Harris laughed once again with barely contained mirth, “No need to be so formal, Chairman. This will not take that long.”

The Chairman’s hand clenched into a fist as the barrister motioned the boy to follow Jasper. The boy turned back, looking so much like a frightened dove, his eyes wide and glittering. If he could, the Chairman would have stopped it. But his hands were bound as sure as a whore twisting within leather manacles.

The whiskey burned down his throat as the Chairman poured another. The flask lay discarded on his empty desk along with his cast aside glasses. He could picture it; he wanted to feel it, the soft slide of skin, the grip of wet heat, the small cry of innocence shattered.

Fancy skittered out of his way as he made his way down the corridor to the spare rooms that were hardly ever used. Clients preferred the relative anonymity of the secluded pagodas. But not the high and mighty, touched by Jupiter’s own hand, Gustav Harris, he thought snidely.

Juno’s providence had left a crack in the heavy wooden door.

The Chairman pressed his back against the cool painted plaster. Holding his breath, he could hear the rustle of fabric. Closing eyes, his mind set the scene.

”Take off your robe. Ah, ah, none of that. I do not need the superficial trappings of fake seduction, boy. Good, good, now, on your knees.”

A grunt, “Cover your teeth, mmmmm,” A gag, then choking cough, “Again, remember to breathe through your nose.”

Wide gray eyes streaming tears, saliva dripping from the small pointed chin. The Chairman cupped his groin, teasing himself through the thin woolen trousers.

”Better, much better,” There was an audible pop followed by a wet sound of the slip slide of flesh against flesh. Deep sounds of kissing, “Your mouth is meant to be wrapped around a man’s prick. Your lips are beautiful, bruised and swollen.”

The screech of metal springs was startling. Then there was the sound of the mattress groaning under the shifting weight of bodies. The Chairman pressed his back against the wall more solidly, fighting for balance and control under the crashing waves of arousal. He had has trousers undone. His slick wet cock heavy in his own hand.

Another choked gasp, more pain filled than the first.

“You know what to do, open for me, that’s it, so tight, warm,” More sounds of kissing and muffled discomfort.

A high thin cry sounded, wounded and desperate.

The Chairman came with quiet grunt, seed spilling over his fingers. The vision of the boy’s virgin flesh surrendering under the steadfast pressure of the cock impaling him pushed the Chairman over the edge. His breath came out in pants in time to heavy slap of flesh on flesh, knowing he could not be heard amongst the sounds of fucking and groaning.

”Roll over, lift your ass,” More sounds fucking followed by the long groan of male satisfaction, “Venus’ bitch, you are, boy.”

The Chairman knew he needed to step away to return to his office. Harris had made it quite clear that taking the boy’s virgin flesh would be it. But a quiet question stopped him.

”Why?

The nerve of the boy, wrecked from passion, to speak out of turn, floored the Chairman.

The barrister’s familiar chuckle floated out into the corridor, a little winded. The Chairman’s jaw clenched.

”I can have anything and everything I want, boy. The one thing I have never had was a pure, untried body. Even my wife was used when I married her. What else is there to tempt a man that has everything? Your body was for sale and I purchased it, like a fine wine or exotic tobacco.”

Having heard enough, the Chairman walked away unable to meet Fancy’s silent, measuring look head on.

*~*

Fancy was glad that the Chairman allowed him to attend the boy. He kept his touches gentle, testing for rips in the delicate skin; he was gladdened to find only a small trace amount of blood. The barrister had shown restraint and some care. The opening was swollen and red from a normal use, not from an over exuberant attempt at the barbaric claiming virginity with no preparation of the olden times.

It worried him, how quiet the boy was as he allowed Fancy to prepare him for his bath. Keeping his head down and movements pliant, it was hard for the old concubine to get a grasp on how the boy was coping with the harsh realities of Crimson Valley, of being nothing but a whore. He snipped the string holding the bells in place and set them aside.

The boy was no longer a virgin. Water sluiced over the naked body huddled in the tub. Fancy bathed him efficiently, not drawing it out. He understood the need to get away, to be within oneself to reflect on the hopelessness of their very existence.

Clutching the boy’s hand after bundling him into a robe, Fancy was determined to get gauge the boy who had wormed his way through his own defenses.

Gray eyes lifted reluctantly. They were swollen and red. And broken, the look made it hard for Fancy to breathe. He had nursed many a whore through the trying first days of service. But none had looked so completely shattered. Fancy pushed the damp hair behind the boy’s ear and gave him a half hearted attempt at a smile as his hand gently cupped the sharp ridge of bone along his cheek.

The boy’s bottom lip trembled. He turned his head quickly and placed a kiss against Fancy’s palm. He left the bathing room with a slow, pained gait of the newly fucked. 

The normally light fleeting steps were silent without the jingle of bells.

*~*

Jeremiah made sure the boy’s pagoda was well stocked. Ointments, fresh water, some bread and crackers, a hunk of cheese as well as some fruit were at the ready should the young one find comfort in food.

Debating with himself, he placed a small flask of whiskey beside the water. Jupiter’s balls, the boy would probably need it.

He thought Fancy would approve.

*~*

Jasper ignored the wraith like figure that limped through the vestibule. It was not time to add him to the list of entertainment for the Valley. Even deflowered, he was not trained enough to begin making a profit.

The Chairman would make sure the boy was more than ready and then notify Jasper of the fact. Patting at his pockets, he found an opium wrap. He looked forward to the day he would have the little whore in his own bed.

*~*

Pretty nudged Honey with his elbow as the back door of the manor squeaked open. The boy appeared with his head down. The lack of jangling bells was telling, as was the slow painful limping walk.

They laughed together, raising their opiate wraps in salute to the newly christened whore. The boy never lifted his head. The dove gray door closed silently.

*~*

It took the threads of what little restraint the Chairman still had not to keep the boy in the bed. To take the barrister’s place between the boy’s slim thighs. To replace the small bruises at the boney hips with his own. To sink within the warm silk of his body and claim it for his own.

The virgin contract was complete.

Now he could train the boy as he saw fit. His cock twitched within the confines of his trousers. He palmed it and then adjusted himself. Placing his glasses on his nose, he went back to the backlog of paperwork that had been pushed aside obsessing over the boy.

For a time, the boy was his.

*~*

Standing at the window, shadowed eyes looked out over the horizon.

I do not like this place that has become my home.

I miss the ocean, the stretches of sandy white beaches. The fisherman hawking their wares each morning, collecting seashells, and running until my legs felt like they were going to fall off.

The temples are always full of people, celebrating, paying homage to the gods. Loud and noisy, full of life, I miss it.

This valley of green with its trees of pink blossoms is far too quiet, with its low laughter at the pain of others. Of groans of passions, cries of pain, the hopelessness of it all, I miss it, my home, my former life. I miss being myself, having a name that was recognized. I knew that something like this would happen though I thought it would end with my bloody demise.

I miss my home. I miss my name. I miss my former life. Even when I smile, even when I find small things to laugh at, even with Fancy’s gentle assurance, I miss being myself, my own person.

He calls me a dove. And while I have privacy in this place, it is no more than a gilded cage. It is only a matter of time until my body is used beyond its endurance. My song will be broken.

What more can I do?

I am nothing but a whore.

*~*

He stared at his reflection in the small mirror, the room small and repressive with the cupboard, the box and rack ominous implements. Fancy called it his boudoir. Gray eyes blinked back at him, the boy in the mirror looked lost and confused. He felt a moment of connection with the old whore; he did not like what he saw.

It would do no good to beat himself up about that which he did not have control over. Sex between males was not unheard of in the teaming villages by the ocean, or even in the brothels. He had thought his interest, even at a young age, would be in females, their curves, their smells. He had just begun to appreciate their beauty, feeling awkward and gangly when they were near. Their laughter was like chattering birds near the wharf. He sighed and shrugged on a robe with a deliberate lack of grace, shoving in one arm and then the other. 

He still ached. Not the burning stinging pain of just after, when the barrister, he shook his head to clear his mind. Fancy’s bath and ointment had helped. He knew it was just untried muscles being used for the first time. It still hurt his limping gait that of defeat, what he lost and could not get back. 

Stepping out into the cool, damp grass, he breathed deep, filling his lungs, his ribs expanding beneath his skin. Unlike those in the quiet, darkened pagodas dotting the Valley, not yet ready to face the day, he wanted to watch the sun break the sky. Saying prayers to the sun god, offering gold at the temples, his breath caught in a hiss. His chest hurt. Twitching his robe from his knees, he knelt on the dew covered ground and quietly intoned the Morning Prayer to Apollo as dawn blazed in the east. 

 

Steadfast Apollo

Bright and Fair

Peace and good journey

On the morning air

Warm the earth

Nurture life

Until the night

And Diana’s tide of might

 

A cough and the smell of opiate had him stumbling quickly to his feet. Assuming the first posture of the morning stretches, he tried to ignore the heavy weight of Jasper’s gaze. He did not know how long he had been standing there. He just hoped that the foreman would move along in his duties.

The movements, the holds, the stretches had become second nature under Fancy’s tutelage. His mind wandered as the air caressed his body, sweat of exertion beading on his forehead and at his nape. Stretching low, he hissed audibly.

He could not stop thinking about it. Hands touching him, so afraid, wanting it to stop, entering him, not giving him time to breathe his mouth spread wide, the taste…he stumbled, his knee striking the ground. Pushing back into the same position, his fingers curled into fists. He could not say no, even though it hurt, it felt like he was being ripped apart. What the Chairman had showed him trying to teach him in preparation, he knew immediately that the barrister had used too little oil in the heat of the moment. He had tried to make his body open up as he had with the small wooden cylinder. He had tried to find a place to hide in his mind but he was not given a moment to breathe.

The scrape of bristled chin, the leering grins, he was split open, first his mouth and then his ass, burning from within. His body unwilling paid no heed to frantic orders of his mind. It hurt. His life of leisure on the beaches near the ocean flashed in front of his eyes and shattered. His body had locked up but the barrister paid no heed, just panting at the hot, tight….

Bile splattered on the grass at his feet.

Ignoring the curses of disgust and his perceived delighted laughter at his expense, he hid inside his pagoda. The water was lukewarm in the ewer. He gulped it down, wanting to cleanse his mouth, his memories too fresh.

Fancy had murmured that it could have been a lot worse as warm water had been poured over his huddled body. That the barrister had obviously shown great care in taking him for the first time, in the old whore’s opinion. Rage built inside of him worse than the meager bile of hurt.

The stoneware cup lay in pieces, shattering under the impact of his anger.

*~*

The boy was pale when he entered Fancy’s kitchen. Reaching out, Fancy’s hand hovered over the boney shoulder. He let it drop when the boy would not meet his eye.

“I am making ham and egg pie this morning,” forcing a cheerful note, Fancy went back to rolling dough, “would you like to help?”

“How do you do it?” The boy sounded raw and hollowed out. “The…” His hands hung limply at his sides, his shoulders in a defeated slump.

Fancy pressed his lips together. Placing the dough gently into the prepared pan, he trimmed the edges.

“There are many ways to deal with it, the service. No one way is better than the other.” He lifted his shoulder and turned to the waiting bowl. Scooping the filling, Fancy continued, “Some see it as acting, playing a role, distancing them from who they are from the body that is used for service. Others revel in it, like a game where the client does not know all the rules. Others find joy in the connection of joining bodies with another for a brief moment.”

“You are not cruel.” The boy turned and hugged his skinny arms against his chest. “Not like the looks that I’ve seen, the sly laughter that I’ve heard. You could have been just as cruel, but you did not. Why?”

“Questions will be the death of you yet, kid,” Fancy huffed. “You ask me why? It’s because…” He trailed off. All the men that had used him, the pain he had endured, dying a little each day, the person he was grinding into dust under the flare of being Fancy. He felt his own shoulders slump under the weight, his posture forgotten. “I’m broken.”

Fancy shook his head, trying to chase away ghosts of the past and of the futility of the future. Gesturing to the waiting tray, “Take the coffee from the stove and take it to the Chairman, he will be wanting it soon.” The boy gave him a questioning look but wisely kept silent, “He specifically said it was to be you to serve him this morning.”

*~*

The coffee was served with a hesitant air, that would need some work. The boy’s hands twisted nervously in front of him as the Chairman took a sip of the rich bitter coffee. A lot of work, there were lists of specific points of training that had been delayed due to the virgin contract.

He felt almost giddy in what topic he would approach first. But that would come after, the coffee cup rattled on the saucer as he set it down. He could fuck the boy and no one would be the wiser, just another ass in service to Crimson Valley. He could do it. And yet, it would cause him more headaches in the end, overcoming a fragile, skittish whore.

“Come here.”

The boy trembled as he padded forward. The Chairman sat back in his chair and let his thighs fall open, wide and relaxed. Gray eyes snapped up to his own, as they had at first sight, wide and wary.

“Quiet, good, I was afraid that your natural inclination of observation and silence had eroded somewhat in become comfortable around Fancy.” He folded his hands and rested them on his stomach. “Did you forget that I said that I would train you?” The boy flushed and looked down. “That begins now.”

“Come here.” There was a subtle power in the repetition of words. The Chairman felt the ripple of excitement in his gut as the boy stopped between his legs.

“Kneel.” Nerves made the descent somewhat clumsy. The Chairman was not too worried. He seen much better showings as the boy learned dance and food service. He felt generous enough not to point out such a poor display for the moment.

The boy’s head lifted, framed by his trouser covered knees. The Chairman bit back a growl at the lovely visual. Instead he said almost flippantly, “A test, to see where you are,” His grin was feral and hungry, “Seduce me.”

A swift exhale through flared nostrils belied the boy’s mood but was quickly covered by a shy, bitten bottom lip. Blood flowed to the soft full skin, turning them rosy and appealing. Hesitant hands slid over his thighs as the boy moved awkwardly toward his groin.

The Chairman tugged at the boy’s hair to stop him, “Again, slower. If the act was all the customer wanted, he could find a back alley whore in the city. You need to build anticipation. Again.”

Slim fingers curved around his ankles, moved beneath his pant legs to knead at the flesh of his calves with firm pressure. The boy used gravity to pull him forward, his shoulders spreading the Chairman’s thighs wider, his cheek rested against the evident length of cock. A quiet, gusting breath ghosted over the Chairman’s arousal.

“Take me out,” He growled. Again the movements of unbuttoning and pushing cloth aside were awkward but the Chairman was too aroused to care. Slim white fingers touched him; the Chairman’s hips bucked forward, tugging out of the boy’s grasp. With a growl of frustration, he gripped the back of the boy’s nape and covered his hand with his own.

“Open your mouth.” Lips spread wide automatically, he hissed at the graze of teeth. He felt like he was reliving the same moments as the barrister. It made him irrationally angry.

The choking gag brought him to his senses and he let the boy retreat. Taking a breath, he reproached firmly, “Sucking cock is the most basic skills. Again.”

Thoughts of the barrister were able to cool his frantic need to a more manageable level. He coached the boy, grinding his jaw to hold onto his control. He was able to ignore the tears and saliva dripping chin. Checking the boy as he bobbed up and down, the Chairman reassured himself that it was merely frustration and not pain that caused the steady flow of tears. He resolutely ignored the voice whispering to him that he knew better, from his vast experience at training new whores. He locked the voice deep inside of him. It was the only way he could look at himself, to live with himself.

“Not everyone will be nice,” He warned, bracing himself for what needed to be done, “Your performance reflects on your status, your ability to bring profit. Profit is the only thing that matters to Crimson Valley.” Moving his hands down to the boy’s cheeks, his fingers gripped his jaw. “Remember to breathe through your nose and let go, allow yourself to take it.”

Pushing his thumbs into the boy’s mouth, at the juncture of his jawbones, the Chairman’s forced the swollen mouth to open even wider. Feeling the tightening, constricting vise of frantically working throat muscles, he moved one hand to cup the boy’s head. Fucking brutally into the tender mouth, the Chairman found his pleasure and spilled his release. Pulling away, he forced the boy’s mouth shut. Ignoring the cruelty of the act, he also pinched the flaring nostrils.

“Swallow it.”

Tears mixed with snot as the boy choked and forced the semen down. Releasing him, the Chairman watched as the boy collapsed onto his knees, his head lower than his shoulders. Skinny arms and heaving back shook as the boy coughed and sputtered.

“We are not done.”

Indignant eyes snapped up, swollen and tear streaked. The Chairman gestured to his lax cock lying against his thigh. “Clean me and put me away.” He tapped the boy’s forehead when he surged forward. “You are still pleasing the customer, even if he breaks your jaw on his cock. It is always about the client’s satisfaction. Customer dissatisfaction will spread like wildfire and it can cripple potential profits.”

The Chairman did not begrudge the boy’s perfunctory clean up and less than elegant attempt at restoring his clothes. It had not been the kindest of lessons. And there were still many more that needed to be addressed. Top of the list was to bury himself in the sweet, young body until the Chairman was bone tired and unable to fuck. The boy was going to be in his bed until he was satisfied that he would not be a disgrace to Crimson Valley. He was the Chairman and he had a job to do.

That was what he kept telling himself.

“You will not return to your pagoda this evening. You will help Fancy serve and then you will join me in my rooms.” He waited. Again the boy’s head was down and to the side, his pointed chin tucking into his neck, and tension radiating from his quivering muscles. He looked like a cat ready to spring. He needed to be reminded that he was a dove, beautiful and calm, as well as caged. Threading his fingers into his hair, the Chairman pulled the boy’s head back by the locks twisted tightly in his hand. “I am waiting.”

Gray eyes glittered, “Yes sir.” The boy’s throat sounded abused and hoarse.

“You may go.” The Chairman was satisfied for the moment.

The boy retreated quickly, his sandaled feet whispering on the hardwood. Sitting back, the Chairman felt his lips turn upward. Taking off his glasses, he polished the lenses slowly. The training had begun. His body was sated and satisfied. For a time, the boy was his. His grin widened in anticipation.

*~*

The pounding of the door made him flinch. The Chairman had given him his orders. He had to serve with Fancy into the evening. Pressing his fingers to his mouth, he knew that it his training would continue. Closing his eyes, he tried to find his strength.

Jasper was at the door with a frown on his face. His arms were full of a paper covered package. “You are not starting off on the right foot, kid. I don’t have to knock. You don’t get to make me wait.”

Paling, he nodded and stepped back to let Jasper stomp inside the main room of the pagoda in heavy leather boots. The foreman dropped the package onto the thick mat with a thump. He pulled a curled piece of parchment from his trouser pocket. He narrowed his eyes; it was the same parchment from the Chairman’s desk.

“The Chairman said you are to wear that this evening, if you need help find Fancy.” The foreman nudged the package, the paper crinkling. Jasper stepped forward and he stepped backwards automatically. There was something hard in the older man’s green eyes, hungry and brutal. Being wary was not enough; fear burned the back of his throat.

Jasper seemed to thrive on that fear, “Relax.” He patted his vest packet and pulled out a smaller wrapped package. “For you, you seem to have made an admirer already even without being for sale.” Unable to reach forward, Jasper rolled his eyes at him. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he dropped it carelessly. “No skin off my ass, kid. You’ve got about an hour before you need to be at the manor.” His lips twitched upwards in a sneer, “I don’t think you’ll like to see the Chairman angry.”

He had the nerve to leave the pagoda door wide open, Pretty and Honey whispering behind their hands, painted eyes slanting with malicious glee. Jasper chuckled and threw his arms around both concubines’ shoulders. He accompanied them over the wooden bridge, deeper into the lush green valley.

The large package sat like a lump of dirt on the pallet, seemingly innocuous but having the potential to be very unpleasant, dirty, and messy. He stuck his tongue out at it. With a flinch, he looked back to his open door where only sunlight and swaying grass remained. Pushing at the package with his toe, he moved to shut the door. The resounding snap was a comfort; he was alone in his space away from prying eyes.

Unknown variables were best to be addressed with Fancy’s guidance. The Chairman was too hard to rationalize, analyze. He could be soft, with gentle touches and protective embraces. He could be hard, fucking his face with little regard for his comfort, teaching him the cold realities of being a whore. Then there was the passion, the barely restrained hunger that seemed to overwhelm them both in a tide of heat and lust that was very unwise. He might not have Fancy’s years, or a natural inclination to be petty like Pretty or Honey, but somehow becoming the boss’s pet in house full of vipers showed a sense of carelessness he did not possess.

A wave of homesickness hit him. His mother’s soft touch, tucking his hair behind his ear, her laughter high and clear as a bell, her loving gaze, her soft spoken words of ‘my beloved son,’ nearly put him on his knees.

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, his focus shifted on the smaller wrapped package. Lifting it hesitantly, his eyes darted around once more, waiting for the villains to leap from the shadows to take a simple gift from his hands.

He scuttled into the corner, his back braced against a kneeler. He alternated picking at the twine with his thumb to worry the same nail with his teeth. It felt heavy, hard. Curiosity won out when the paper tore away from the twine. Metal, he decided, and it glittered. Pulling the pin from its paper shroud, it dropped heavily into his waiting palm.

An elaborate lily pin nearly fit into his palm. The petals smooth and white, the stalk a bright green. He let it fall into his lap.

Diana’s symbol, the virgin goddess, he stared down at it. White for moonlight, white for purity, and his face burned with shame. Pulling his knees up to his chest, the pin fell onto the floor with a thump. Diana’s curse as a gift from an admirer, no doubt the barrister, he hugged his knees tighter. No doubt thanking him for what he purchased without thought or common decency.

Fancy’s signature butterfly, bright and glittering, a proud display of a lover who had forgotten the old concubine with the slow trod of time. Pressing his cheek against his knees, he reached out and nudged the pin with his finger afraid that it would infect him with its poison, burning him and changing him from the inside out. His life felt like long never ending void, lost and adrift. It was like he could see his future, he would become another Fancy, a faded version of vitality, a sad reminder of former beauty.

Dull and blunted, broken and hollowed out, that was his future. And it would not do to drag his heels, kicking and screaming across its threshold. 

He left the pin discarded on the floor. Picking up the heavy, bulky package, he took Jasper’s advice. He sought out Fancy.

*~*

“You’ve been quiet,” Fancy noted. “Since the completion of your contract,” He met the boy’s silent gaze, “I know you are not ready to talk. But when you are,” He bit down on his lip and lifted a shoulder, “Sometimes talking about it helps.”

“And words can be used as a weapon, a knife to the back.” The boy’s words were heavy and bitter.

Nodding, Fancy swirled the brush into the body powder. “For someone so naïve, you are very wise in this. Past experience?” The boy did not answer. Instead, he watched passively as the old concubine slowly powdered his upper body and arms. It added a silky sheen as well as a glitter that would catch the light.

It was the boy that broke the quiet as Fancy laid out the garments with a practiced eye. They had bathed and stripped away body hair, leaving them both smooth and bare.

“Why this?” The boy gestured to the green and gray silk laying side by side, “It will make us look like women.” His mouth puckered as if the words were sour and distasteful. “If they want a woman, why not just go find one?”

Fancy chuckled, the cold exterior was breaking. The naturally wary, curious boy was emerging once again.

“It is the mystery, young one,” the boy rolled his eyes at Fancy’s droll tone. “It is the eroticism; it is the decadence of the fabric. It is taking the role and bending it just a bit to twist the lust that much more.”

“How do you even start? You said the laces are in the back, how do you put this on alone?”

The boy was glaring daggers at the finely made corsets and did not see Fancy recoil. He knew he was pathetic, but the boy’s careless words pinched at a festered sore.

“You are correct in assuming that I have no friends among the others concubines, you’ve seen that. Whores are a fickle bunch. A friend today is the enemy of tomorrow. If you draw the client’s eye, your friend will want to scratch out yours in retaliation.” Gray eyes lowered the gentle chastising penetrating. The boy was such a surprising enigma. Instead of withdrawing, he reached out with soft fingers and curled them around Fancy’s own.

Mollified, Fancy continued, “Jeremiah usually helps when I dress this way from the Chairman’s directive. However,” He picked up the gray corset, “I will help you and then you will assist me. You need to learn. Think of it as more training.” The boy flinched but said nothing more.

The white lacey hosiery went on first; Fancy helped the boy with the first leg. The touch of young healthy skin brought a bloom of arousal for the old whore and he dropped his hands as if it burned. Instead, he let the boy mimic his movements in tightening the garter belt and attaching it to the hosiery.

The bone stays fit against the boy’s rib cage and gave a simulated flare to the slim hips. Fancy bit his lip when the boy’s buttocks fit into the cradle of his thighs. Desire felt almost foreign. Being the object of lust, Fancy had almost forgotten what it was like to feel the turbulent emotion directed towards another.

He and Jeremiah were comfortable. The boy squirmed, hissing at the breathless pinch of the corset.

The boy was damning in his appeal.

Fancy was clipped and short as he directed the boy in the lacing of his own corset. The slim wraps simulated the skirt, reveling one thigh up to the hip. The flirt of lace and skin, embraced by the garter, the leather shoes had a small heel.

The boy stumbled in his first few steps.

“Fancy?” The pleading tone touched Fancy. “I’m going to spill tea and wine in these things.”

Fancy chuckled, “Then you shall serve the bread and cheese.” He smiled at the boy, “You’ll get the hang of it. You have a natural grace.”

The boy blushed and deferred to the old concubine in the application of makeup.

“How did he even know these things would fit?” His young body rippled with discomfort at the unfamiliar, restricting attire.

Fancy held the boy’s chin in his hand to keep it still. The designs along the brow bone, eyelids, and cheekbones, were birdlike, feathery traces of coal and ash. Keeping the boy’s lip pale, white mixed with gray the old concubine bisected the full lips with a stroke of scarlet.

Turning the boy towards the mirror, he answered absently, “I have a good eye for size with all my years of experience.” Frowning, he pulled out his larger box of accents. The boy’s fair hair was not at a length that could be pinned back or arranged with braids and beads. The careless tumble was appealing in combination with the painted face.

Fancy picked through earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. He pulled out some discarded others, until he settled on a three strand pearl choker and silver gauntlet that could be worn around the bicep.

A sigh of resignation danced between them. Fancy stared at his handiwork with a critical eye before choosing his own accents. “You are going to need your ears pierced as soon as possible. It will be up to the Chairman, if he wishes any other body accents. But ears are a given.”

The boy stared at him wide eyed, the wary cautious look reappearing as well. “It does not hurt. If the Chairman agrees, I’ll do them tomorrow. I am surprised that it has not been done already. You will be much more on display now.” The boy wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Come on, kid,” Fancy was satisfied, “The customers will be arriving soon. They will be expecting service.”

*~*

The Chairman waited until the third round of refreshments had been served. He cupped the boy’s elbow in his palm. “My rooms, now,” He whispered against the delicate curve of ear, relishing the responsive shiver.

He kept the boy waiting, interested in how he would handle anticipation. There were several roles to play. Being on display during the serving, to entice new customers to build a rapport, to bring them back wanting more, the goal was to get a lustful man to release his coin and his seed. When the concubine gathered a following, they would wait in their gilded cages, to be pursued, taken, to give the client his utmost desires. And finally, some clients’ that came to the Valley for business other than their own pleasure, liked to have a whore at his side, on his knees, a mouth wrapped around their cocks, for no other reason but that they could.

The little Dove had so many lessons to learn, ones that he was only too happy to teach. He had to keep himself behind the line entrenched in obsession.

Final orders were divvied out between Jasper and Jeremiah. The Chairman pulled Fancy aside and lifted his hand to his lips. He would not say the words but he expressed his appreciation in other ways. He gained small satisfaction in Fancy’s embarrassed faltering.

His prey stood in the embrace of moonlight. His pale arms glittered, the curve of body a seductive pull that he could not fight against. The Chairman had showed the boy brutality. He had another lesson to give.

The dark corners of his soul wanted to replace the boy’s memories of the barrister with that of his own. Stepping up behind him, he pressed the boy up against the cool pane of glass.

“You are beautifully, intoxicating,” the Chairman murmured. He let his fingers travel up the expanse of inner arms. The corset texture was silky against his skin. The laces came apart and the boy’s thankful breath was audible. The wrap pooled at his feet.

“Turn around.”

The boy backed up against the window. The lines of his body, was a curious mix of male and female. The makeup and stockings, the narrow hips and cock that had begun to swell, the Chairman cupped the soft flesh in his palm. His grin was predatory in the quiet gasp.

“Undress me.” 

The faltering fingers slowly released buttons, setting aside cufflinks, sweeping the shirt from the Chairman’s shoulders. The boy had more trouble with the trousers, maneuvering around the Chairman’s aroused cock. He showed his graceful nature as he slipped to his knees, removing shoes, socks, and trousers with teasing touches to the backs of knees and soft brushes against the muscles of calves.

“Now your mouth,” The Chairman did not allow the boy to tarry long. He would take plenty of opportunity in the use of the boy’s mouth both in training and for his own enjoyment. The Chairman helped the boy to his feet, trailing his hand around the curve of his buttock, and rested it against the upper thigh encased in lace.

He took his time kissing the sweet little Dove in the romance of the moonlight.

“Hold onto me.” The slim arms went about his neck. Taking the juxtaposition of male and female a step further, he slid his arm beneath the boy’s knees. The move was not lost on the boy who frowned and tried to hide in the hollow the Chairman’s neck.

“A client is paying for the dream,” he murmured, sliding his hands over naked skin and silky lace, gently spreading the boy’s thighs. “They want the fantasy.” He dipped his fingers in the waiting vile of oil. “Who is to say that they would not imagine a dainty little girl, a chance to debauch and fuck?”

The boy groaned his tight muscle was massaged and encouraged to loosen under the steady pressure of fingers. The Chairman moved the boy’s leg around his hip. Guiding in his cock into the prepared opening, he watched for signs of discomfort. The slight pinch of frown smoothed slowly. Taking the other leg, the Chairman grasped the boy beneath his knee. Pushing upward, he pushed deeper.

“Look at me,” He thrust slowly, the pace maddening against his own desire to take to consume. The boy blushed, his fingers digging into the bed sheets. Thrusting harder, he growled, “Look at me. See me, watch as I take you.”

He put the boy in several positions, giving into his own need, the boy’s legs over his shoulders, the rasp of lace heightening his desire. He came within the tight clenching vise of the boy’s ass. Easing the boy’s legs down, the Chairman pushed them open wide.

Groaning, the boy’s hips moved restlessly.

“I could call you a cunt, a pussy and you would not care, dressed like girl and desperate to release your seed.” The Chairman said blandly. “Ultimately your body is for my pleasure. You please me and I may let you find it.” He let go of the boy’s legs and stood up. Standing naked in the moonlight, he poured a small glass of whiskey. “Do not think about touching yourself.” He ordered without looking back at the boy. Swallowing the liquor, the Chairman pulled on his pants.

The boy was writhing desperately in the bed. The Chairman sat down and watched him dispassionately.

“I said I may, not that I would.” He cocked his head the side, “That would complete the illusion would it not? Lie still.”

The boy fought to gain control of his body.

“For me to get you off, with my hand, with my mouth, it would feel like more, wouldn’t it?” He coated his hand in oil, beneath the weight of the boy’s frantic eyes. “Like a relationship, a give and take, making love.” Shaking his head, the Chairman stared down at the boy. “Hands above your head.”

Trembling arms stretched, hands wrapping around the slats in the headboard. The Chairman took a moment to appreciate the view. Lean body, white translucent skin, shaking muscles, and the boy’s cock was heavy against his abdomen, pearling fluid against his stomach.

“It is never love, it is never more.” The Chairman gripped the boy tightly in his hand, using his blunt nails to drive the edge of pain. The boy yelped in surprise, his hips pulling back. The Chairman tugged at the smooth balls to stop the movement. “It is sex, it is their fantasy. It will always be about the client, not about you.” He kept the pace brutal until the boy spilled over his hand.

“It is always about my need, the client’s need, never ever forget that.” He put his semen coated hand in front of the boy’s mouth. He waited to see if the boy retained his previous lesson. The frown he would forgive, the boy’s emotions were tumultuous. The first hesitant lick gave the Chairman a sense of pride.

The boy may not like his lot in life. But he was coming into his understanding, that even though the Chairman would use him, they were nothing more than Chairman and concubine. He pulled his hand away.

“Go bathe and return here, we will continue your training in the midmorning.” He cleared his throat when the boy went for his pile of clothes. “You will not need them. Think of it as more training.” When the boy tried to cover his groin, the Chairman shook his head, “Your body is not your own, it is for the enjoyment of the client. And myself.”

Fighting with himself, the boy gave in. His hands were at his side when he departed the bedroom, clenched tightly into shaking fists.

The Chairman reclined in his bed, ignoring the prick of his consciousness that called him a liar. He could train the boy but he could not deny that he wanted to possess the little Dove as his very own, shackled to his bed, the clients of Crimson Valley, be damned to Pluto’s pit.

Scratching his belly with satisfaction, Mine! crowed darkly within him.

*~*

Fancy's Interlude:

Jeremiah watched Fancy’s agitated movements about their shared room. Unusually messy as well, the bureau was decorated with the spills of jewelry and a jumble of makeup pots and brushes. Fancy paced about the room, moving things about but not cleaning and arranging as was his wants. Brushes were lifted, their bristles teased with flittering touches only to be sat down in a different place.

To say that Jeremiah was captivated was an understatement.

The slowly brightening room framed Fancy is a soft light, the mysterious painted face, the flirt of loosening curls spilling around bare shoulders. The butterfly pin accented with a similar choker, directed the eye to the long slim neck.

The green satin hugged rib and dip of slender waist. When Jeremiah saw the corset in the gathering room, he had been surprised. He always laced the ribbons tightly, watching the silhouette appear, Fancy’s ribcage slowly deflating to allow for a tighter embrace of the unforgiving whalebone stays, the shallow breaths whispering in the air.

Red accents and white lace was reminiscent of Yule and disconcerting in the slowly changing cool brisk spring breezes to the heavy, musky promise of summer. Yet, Fancy still could turn heads, the crushed velvet of the wrap cuddling the tight rounds of his buttocks, the playful peek of white lace and bare thigh.

Jeremiah’s mouth had watered, wanting to lick the skin that promised a trail towards hidden pleasures. In the privacy of their room, the wrap had loosened. Jeremiah wanted to curl his fingers into the garter and pull the old concubine into his arms.

“What has gotten in to you?” He kept his voice deliberately light. 

“I…” Fancy looked up in surprise, his fingers fluttered over the butterfly at his throat, the bone and joints beating like the fragile multihued wings.

“Fancy,” Jeremiah breathed. Taking the restless hand into his own, he drew Fancy forward until their bodies brushed together. “Tell me what you want, what you need. If I can, I’ll give it you.”

His head dipped forward, the long curl of auburn hair teased the white lace of the corset. Jeremiah cupped his chin, softly stroking upward to the rouge tinted cheek. Fancy pressed into the touch, beautiful ocean eyes wet with unshed tears and a desperate hunger that made his own breath feel heavy in his chest.

“Just,” Fancy turned into his hand, pressing his lips softly against his skin, “let me.” The last husky words were accompanied with a sharp nip of white teeth. The bite surged like lightening through Jeremiah’s body, electrifying and terrifying.

He never wanted Fancy to play the role, the whore. Jeremiah thought of himself as a simple man in extraordinary circumstances, cohabitating with decadent, sinful temptation of men on display, bodies groomed for pleasure, lives that were bought and sold on a whim. Without choice, they made the best of their lot in life, slowly withering away. It always pained him to see Fancy’s faded opulence against the young, smooth bodies that came into Crimson Valley. When they broke, he was not sure what the Chairman did with them. Fancy was unique in that respect. Long lived in a profession that was not known for longevity.

The expressive ocean eyes had been Jeremiah’s undoing. He wanted more than either he or Fancy could give. He made sure that he always gave as much as took, when having Fancy in his bed, in his arms. Touches were about mutual pleasures of the flesh instead of blind need or lust.

The heat of Fancy’s gaze, the heaviness in his touch as they moved down Jeremiah’s sides, felt different. Lust and hunger instead of a shy need for affection, Fancy looked every bit the former whore, calculating just the right move, the seductive turn of lips, hands moving with promise and it swept Jeremiah up within its relentless tide of sexual need.

Fancy stepped back and began to move. A dance that Jeremiah would compare to Azure or Sky, playing upon the senses, the glittery look of passion could have easily been Pretty. The graceful sway of hip that loosened the velvet wrap bared buttock and groin to soft blue haze of morning raising its sleepy head.

“Fancy,” His was a hoarse whisper. Glittering ocean eyes peered up from between his thighs, long nimble fingers releasing him from his trousers.

Wet, soft expert heat swallowed him whole. His pleasure coursed through him storm violent and overwhelming. Jeremiah tugged at Fancy’s hair, tight and hard, Fancy growled in pleasure. Pushing the concubine away, Fancy sat back on spread thighs with a seductive swipe of tongue wetting his swollen lips.

The rest was snatches of impressions and tangled limbs. The fancy corset carelessly discarded. The butterfly pin clutching at a clump of disheveled red hair. The welcome heat gripping at his oil slick fingers, touching Fancy from within and making him writhe. Lying on the faded rug, the surface felt cold and unforgiving. The ethereal beauty of pale limbs, the angle of Fancy’s neck and back, the cock proud and wet, hard and hungry jutting from the hairless groin. His own helpless hands touched lean length of arms, twisting tiny budded nipples, and finally settling on the juts of hip to hold on for the ride. The muscles tightening around him as Jeremiah’s heels dug into the rug, looking for purchase, his seed boiling out of him helplessly.

He panted in shock when Fancy knocked his seeking hands away. He only wanted to provide mutual pleasure. Fancy just stared down at him, with half lidded heavy eyes.

“Watch me,” the sibilant tone swirled around Jeremiah seductively, heavy with need. 

The long nimble fingers wrapped around the hungry flesh, one hand upward around the damp wet tip, the other cradling the heavy weight of twin balls ready for release. Fancy’s hips ground in a maddening rhythm, Jeremiah’s retreating cock gripped by strong muscle.

“Fancy,” Jeremiah cried out, the sensations too much.

“Watch,” Fancy’s voice deepened in command.

Red hair tossed backwards, the long lean neck rippled with tension, Fancy’s mouth falling open in a quiet cry. White, thick seed coated his stroking hand, pouring over Jeremiah’s stomach and chest.

Jeremiah caught him in the fierce embrace of his arms, the red hair splaying out over his chest. He felt hollowed out and unnerved. Sated and concerned, he pushed his fingers into Fancy’s sweat damp hair, encouraging him to lift his head.

Fancy gave him a shy, sleepy look. It eased him somewhat, giving himself even if he did not understand the root of Fancy’s passion. There were no shadows in the gaze that blinked at him, heavy and tired.

He knew that they needed to get up, to find comfort in the soft mattress and warm blankets. It would be the smart thing to do. Even smarter would be to help Fancy up, to find his balance on shaky legs, and bathe away the evidence of sex on their bodies. Except, Fancy curled into him, head over his heart, thigh settling between his legs. Jeremiah trailed his hand down the cool expanse of Fancy’s back, sweat drying in the morning air. He hesitated and then dipped his finger into the valley between the firm mounds of buttocks, his questing touch settling deep into the wet open hole of Fancy’s body. Fancy murmured in his sleep and pressed back into Jeremiah’s touch. Something warm, deep, dark burned in Jeremiah’s gut, feeling his seed wet and warm inside Fancy’s pliant body.

Too warm, too comfortable, Jeremiah ignored the smart thing to do and just followed Fancy into Morpheus’ palace of dreams.

*~*

The Chairman let the boy sleep. He had turned on to his stomach. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, tree branches swaying, it cast shifting designs across the smooth expanse of pale flesh. He wanted to lick the shadows and taste his skin. He wanted to curl next him, to pull the slight form against his own and rest for a little while longer. The day’s affairs were waiting and he wanted to let them wait indefinitely.

The rattle of dishes and smell of coffee added to the symphony of senses as the day continued on its relentless journey.

He hardened himself to the task at hand. The boy slept through the Chairman’s morning ablutions, his first cup of coffee. He stirred, his tousled head lifting from the pillow when Jasper joined him at the doorway. The gray eyes went from sleep heavy to alert and wary. His gaze narrowed on what the Chairman held in his hand, tapping lightly at his side.

“Thank you, Jasper, that will be all,” He closed the door with a snap. He crossed to the leather chair, wide and comfortable, near his window. He often sat there reading, going over lingering correspondence, enjoying the last remnants of evening air before the break of dawn.

Sitting down, the Chairman crossed his feet at the ankle and twisted the silky smooth polished wood handle between his fingers.

“Do not let me keep you from your morning stretches,” He said nonchalantly. 

Slim naked limbs slid from beneath the blankets. 

“Remember,” the Chairman stated as one hesitant foot touched the hardwood floor, “Some clients will be with you come morning, each movement, each thought has to be for the enjoyment of the one who purchased you.” He reclined in his seat and waved his hand, “Carry on.”

The familiar reaction of the chin dipping downward to the side was accompanied with the clench of fingers against the edge of the bed. Narrow shoulders straightened, the boy’s head lifted slowly with a seductive air. The tumble of pale hair rested against his sharp cheekbone. The slide from the bed drew the eye to pale thighs brushing against each other, before knees opened to reveal the curve of naked body, subtly arched and supple.

Fancy’s lessons had been well honed in the newly evolving concubine. The Chairman made note to pair the boy with Diamond for an exhibition dance. The boy’s small frame would compliment well with the other’s taller, lean form. Diamond’s dark hair and naturally tanned skin against the boy’s pale would seduce the customers and open purses.

It was hard to be overly critical in the boy’s natural grace. Each stretch highlighted the lean muscles, the flexibility, and the air of fragile innocence behind the attempts at being evocative and sexual. There was no evidence of discomfort from the previous night’s exertions. The boy was beginning to adapt to his body’s role.

His little Dove went into the final resting pose, his chest rising and falling with exertion. Sweat matted hair curled at his temples. Time to take the training to the next phase while his muscles were loose and he had found some relaxation in the routine movements.

“Come with me.” He ordered and then shook his head with a heavy sigh when the boy made a move to his discarded clothing. The heavy weight swung at his side as he gripped the handle.

Gesturing, he had the boy step up to the St. Andrew’s cross, fastening wrists and ankles so that the he faced the cross. His back and buttocks were on display, naked and vulnerable. Taking the leather covered paddle, he ran it down the boney knobs of the boy’s spine. The boy shivered but wisely kept silent.

“You now know that your role is for the pleasure of the client, your mouth, your ass, and your body are tools to satisfy the client and gain profit. You have seen brutality in pain with Diamond’s demonstration.” He paced from side to side. “Diamond is unique; his nature draws a certain clientele, like Grimes. However,” he patted the flat of the paddled against the boy’s bottom. He clenched it tightly, “Some clients like to play with pain as well as pleasure.”

The Chairman pressed against the boy’s back, sliding the paddle down the side of his thigh, “Some could say pain is their pleasure.”

“You have to learn to take it, like fucking.” The swat was harder when he stepped back. The boy’s head dipped downward, tension tightening his body. The left side of his ass was red. The right was lily white. That would change.

The next three strokes were relentless, one to the left, two carefully between each flinching cheek. The boy twisted. The Chairman pressed the paddle into him, the thin edge settling into the valley of the boy’s bottom. His breath hitched and he went very still.

“Don’t fight it,” The Chairman growled, “just let go.”

The boy continued to twist and writhe, his ass glowing bright red. The strike that caught his upper thighs had him howling, “Stop!”

The Chairman was on him once more, the wool of trousers irritating the heated skin. He bit the boy’s shoulder before commenting, “Do you think you can say stop?” He tapped the boy, wood against the bone of his knee, “Do you? I interview the clients that request paddles for my concubines. I know how far they can go. They know how far they can go. You have to trust that it will not be too far. You have to trust me even when you think you cannot. My job is to keep you safe. Your job is to let go and give in.”

Blow after blow rained heavily, buttocks, thighs, and softer taps to the shoulder blades drawing back in an abortive gesture of protection. He began to play with the tempo, the pressure, focusing on one spot repeatedly, to rain even blows over a wide expanse of red flesh.

The Chairman nearly growled when he saw it. The acceptance, the loosening of muscles, the relaxed dip of the boy’s head, instead of trying to pull away he began to move with each strike. His ass rocked gently into each swat. Lesson learned. The Chairman tapered off until only the sound of the boy’s even breathing remained.

He helped the boy down. The evidence of arousal was proud against his lean thigh. He supported his loose limbed body down the corridor and into his rooms. The Chairman eased him down onto the bed gently. He pushed the tumbled hair out of his face. He had been affected by the beauty of the boy’s pain as well. But the lesson was not about completion of sexual need. It was about acceptance.

“You will answer to Dove.” He tugged at the straw colored hair. The boy blinked lazily. “Answer me, what is your name.”

“Se…” The boy began but the Chairman touched his bitten red lips in warning. The boy flinched. He sucked in a breath through his flared nostrils. “Dove, my name is Dove.”

“Such a good boy,” he said it almost off handedly. The Chairman could see the potential, the acknowledgement of his role. The Dove would rake in gold hand over fist as soon as he became available.

As soon as he could let go.

He took the aftercare seriously. Usually he left it to Fancy’s deft hands, but there was teaching to be done. “You have the potential.” He said rubbing the cooling gel over deep red skin that would bloom into dark bruises, “One that I will have to guard with care. I cannot have you used too hard, too fast in the beginning, but you definitely have potential. The grace of Fancy, the beauty of Diamond as you give yourself up, and soon when you gain your bearings you will have the heat of Pretty and Honey. If you were twinned then I could compare you to Azure and Sky.” He lifted Dove’s soft hair from his nape. “I do not see Scarlet in you.” Chuckling at his own attempt at humor, he sat back on the edge of the bed.

Those large wary eyes followed his every movement. “You did well, Dove. Paddling is just the beginning; there are other avenues of pain and bondage that we will explore, together.” He helped the boy move carefully on his side. The hiss of discomfort was not unexpected; the Chairman had worked over both flanks evenly. 

He gently pinched a tight budded nipple between his fingers, “There clamps to use here and here,” The Chairman gestured to Dove’s groin, hidden protectively behind tightened thighs. “There is the cane, the flogger, the strap, and the whip. So much training left to do,” He said the last more to himself than Dove.

Pushing himself onto his feet, he looked down at the boy, “Rest here. I will make sure Fancy keeps some food warm for you.”

The Chairman went to the bathing room. His cock was in his hand and the vision of Dove crying out in his mind. He spilled his seed into his hand. Wiping it away efficiently, he went about the rest of his day.

*~*

Dove, he had to think himself in those terms. Imperiously named by his owner like a pet puppy, the Chairman of Crimson Valley, lord and master, he felt his lips peel back into a snarl. New name, bruised ass, it was his life. Not to mention, fucked in so many different ways. The temples to Venus lauded sex and love. And they called Diana the bitch, his mood was uncharacteristically foul. He liked to pride himself on being watchful, on being able to analyze problems, to see how pieces shifted and fit together to make a whole.

He was sold, he had been fucked, and now he was whore. There was no silver lining. He just had his ass paddled like a small child. And he found a sense of hazy arousal in it; no it was not one of his better days.

Not wanting to inflict his mood on Fancy after bathing and dressing, he plucked an apple from the basket and moved slowly out of the manor. He had limped after the barrister’s overenthusiastic taking of his virginity. He could barely walk after being spanked. How would he ever get used to it, this new life? No matter how he shifted the pieces around in his mind, he just could not grasp it. The sense of melancholic understanding had been beaten into uncertain confusion.

The thought of hiding away, of being confined in his pagoda was too stifling. His forehead puckered. This Dove needs to stretch his wings, he thought. Or rather his sore ass.

Steps plodded slow and heavy. The grass sprang up around his sandaled feet, like a lush carpet. He followed the path over the bridge. A small brook rippled quietly. Everything was quiet. Dove was glad for the brief respite.

He pulled up short. Diamond lay sunbathing in the nude. His face was upturned, like a flower seeking warmth. Dove had not seen much of him since then demonstration. The unnatural white of the concubine’s skin had proved to be powder he realized. Diamond’s body was a warm caramel tone. His body was loose against the blanket, his countenance smooth, young, and peaceful.

But he had seen the other side, back dripping with blood, wails for it to stop, bitten lips, and glassy eyes. He had seen it all and Diamond seemed so serene in repose.

“You are blocking Apollo’s kiss,” One light, glittering eye opened, barely a slit of unique color showing. “Oh, it’s you.”

Not the warmest of welcomes, Dove decided. Diamond was more of loner than Honey or Pretty. Fancy’s warnings sounded heavily in his ear. He gave a wary incline of his head and stepped backwards, out of the line of sun. Diamond’s eyes shuttered close for a moment before opening slowly. “You don’t have to go anywhere, kid, just stay out of my light.”

He nodded hastily and then hissed loudly when he turned wrong. Diamond pushed himself up on his elbow. His clear white blue eyes traveled over him. “What did he use, the Chairman?”

Dove knew he was gaping like a fish, his teeth clacked painfully when he snapped his jaw shut, “A paddle.”

Diamond nodded, moving his body languorously, until he sat, his knees bent and pressed into the blanket. Turning to the right, he stretched the long lean line of his back, “Wood with holes?”

Shaking his head, Dove sat downing gingerly. The grass was soft against the backs of his calves; he made sure that he was not too close to Diamond. “Small, covered in leather.”

“Nice.” Diamond regarded, “You come looking for me, kid?”

Dove hesitated, “No. And it’s Dove,” The word felt bitter on his tongue. “He named me Dove. And how did you know that he, well, he…”

The dark haired concubine threw his head back with a laugh, “Like recognizes like, little Dove. He named me after using the single tailed whip for the first time.” He hummed lowly; the sound caused the small hairs on Dove’s arms to rise. “Single tail whip is still my favorite.”

“I do not think I will ever find pleasure in that,” Dove blurted. Flushing he tucked his chin against his chest. He was still unsure of Diamond and what his reaction would be.

Diamond gave a little sound of understanding, “Then he did not let you spill your seed. When you do, you will fly just like your namesake.” He stood and gathered up his blanket. “I don’t have any other advice for you other than don’t fight it. Just give in and let the pain carry you.”

Curving his hand to shade his eyes, Dove chanced more, despite Fancy’s voice warning him about asking question, not knowing when to just let things go. He had been much better at silent observation in his former life. “But he made you cry, you wanted it to stop.”

The concubine stopped, the blanket hung loosely in his grasp. “It’s trust in a place where not much trust exists. The Chairman knows what I can take, and Grimes,” Diamond looked down. It surprised Dove, if he was not sun flushed, Diamond would have been blushing. “He thought he could he push me further.” Clearing his throat, he began his retreat. “That won’t be your fate, little Dove, just give into it.”

Diamond stopped once more, his expression softened when he met Dove’s questioning gaze. “One more thing, let Fancy help you, afterward, he…” Diamond shrugged. “That will help as well.” Then the dark haired concubine retreated, his steps quick and sure.

Scuttling backwards, Dove sought the shade of the cherry tree. He had burned once as a child and did not relish the experience, coupled with the heat in his bottom. He turned on his stomach and pillowed his face in his arms to give his back some relief. He knew he would not learn everything to help him survival by observation alone. He would still be wary of underhanded tricks and cruel mockery. The other whore had given him much to think about.

*~*

Dove’s life at the manor changed. The Chairman did not allow clients to select him, to take him back to the pagoda and use him. However, he was allowed to do more than just serve refreshments with Fancy.

He danced the Venus Morning Supplication with Diamond. It depicted two lovers worshiping each other bodies for the joy of goddess. The training had been disconcerting. So much had been hands on him touching him, teasing him, hurting him. It was the first time he had been allowed to touch another, to feel Diamond’s smooth warm skin under his palms.

It felt nice. His skin tingled and his own body betrayed itself with hints of arousal. The end of the dance had Diamond’s head buried in his groin; the audience was to believe that Dove was receiving oral pleasure. Diamond chuckled at his obvious need, muttering about the innocence of youth and pulled him to his feet.

“Save that for the money, little Dove.” He said, departing for his own pagoda. 

Dove stood under the cherry trees, aching and uncertain. His mind tumbled on itself, confusion and need, want and self loathing. His hand hovered over himself, wondering what it would be like to pleasure himself with his own touch. It had been strictly forbidden by the Chairman since he was still in his training period. Orgasm denial was the bane of his existence.

He knew that there was nothing more between the Chairman and himself, other than the role of owner and servant. Sometimes, the man’s blue eyes would burn with a dark fire that would consume Dove and then other times they would glitter like hard marbles as he corrected, manipulated, and subjugated Dove’s body into what he demanded over and over again.

An unwilling bond forged between them. Dove could see it when a client would touch his hand too long or he would laugh in response to gentle ribbing over wine or coffee. The man’s face would become thunder cloud dark; disappear behind the heavy oak door of his office, clouds of whiskey fumes seeping into the corridor.

Training would be painful in the aftermath. Shackled, suspended, whipped, flogged, clamped, and cock bound became new and disconcerting, pain with a fine edge of pleasure. He understood what Diamond spoke of. The red hot warmth of echoes of pain, his cock freed, his seed curling out of his very soul, his body flew and it shamed him. His only release came at the will of the Chairman.

He wanted to beg for more.

He danced with Diamond, their skin glowing in firelight. Diamond’s bigger body held him close when they took their bows of recognition. He felt Diamond’s lips against his temple.

“Good job, kid.” His voice was quiet and then he was walking away. 

His naked form glistened with the oil they both had used. A client stepped up to him and gripped his hip. The concubine’s slippery skin had the pale hand sliding down the curve of tanned buttock. Diamond’s posture changed subtly as he curled toward the man, his body draping against his side. The client, a heavy weight man with ruddy cheeks and bushy beard shoved coins to Jasper in a beat up leather pouch. Diamond’s lips traveled up the man’s neck as he gently shifted them toward the back entrance of the manor, to lead the man towards the pagoda, to do the job at hand.

Pretty’s light laughter sounded close to him and Dove turned. It was the physician. Pretty knelt between his knees, his bright red robe slipping from pale shoulders, his hands were moving up and down the man’s thighs. The man’s mouth was open, his eyes glittered with lust.

“You need to go get cleaned up,” Fancy hissed in his ear, causing Dove to jerk in surprise. “You are tempting Jupiter’s will standing around like that. Do not cause unwanted trouble.” He hurried on with an empty silver tray.

Dove moved to the corridor, aware of his vulnerable state. The oil made him feel cold and he shivered as he hurried toward the bathing chamber. He heard heated voices from within the Chairman’s office. He knew better but he slowed his steps. The more knowledge he had, the safer he would be. He had learned that at a very young age through political intrigue at his father’s knee.

“It is my role to determine when they are marketable. I decide when they are ready for sale.” The Chairman’s voice made him shiver. He had not heard that type of anger, dark and cold.

“And the board of directors is seriously beginning to question your judgment,” The magistrate returned, calm and unflappable.

Dove’s face burned in awareness. They were talking about him. The Chairman was getting reprimanded because of him.

“A training period usually lasts a month, a couple of weeks at best,” The magistrate continued despite the sound of a heavy thud. Dove could picture the Chairman’s fist pounding against the wood of his desk.

“His individual service is mediocre at best and we are still working on orgasm control.” The Chairman returned hotly. Dove felt his stomach curdle with shame.

The magistrate laughed, “Most of the clients are charmed by initial ineptness. Especially with fragile beauty such as his,” His voice turned serious, “The board has had several complaints about being denied the boy’s services.”

“Dove,” The Chairman said through clenched teeth, “His name is Dove.”

“If you’ve named him, then he is ready. Really,” Dove heard the scrape of chair legs against hardwood. “You are going to be put up for a vote of no confidence if this does not change.”

He needed to leave before he was discovered lurking about. The Chairman’s quiet voice stopped him once more, “When?”

“Williamson and I are requesting that he service us a noon day picnic tomorrow, here in the Valley. Then he will be available for requests. He is much too valuable for the floor show, night after night.”

Hearing Fancy’s laughter, Dove hurried on into the bathing room. His back pressed against the door. His chest felt tight and heavy. His time had run out. No more time to wonder or practice or train.

Dove’s service would begin on the morrow. He would be a noon time dalliance for two important men of the city.

He was not sure what god or goddess to pray to for mercy.

*~*

It was all really simple. He went to the bathing house and cleaned his body thoroughly. Fancy’s little reminders from the beginning had him checking his body for hidden stubble. His face still turned beet red as his fingers trailed down the valley of his ass. 

His hair was a loose tumble about his shoulders. His robe was gray. His feet wore the familiar sandals.

Dove studied the lily pin that sat discarded on the bureau along with the meager supply of paints and rouges. His forehead puckered. A picnic indicated outdoors, his face would look false beneath the layer of makeup. Firelight was kind, sunlight was not.

Another one of Fancy’s many euphemisms, he left the pin behind.

Fancy was waiting for him in the vestibule. The picnic basket was large with a soft folded blanket along with it. The old whore’s eyes were worried. Dove peered out the window; there was no sign of a carriage.

Yet.

“What is it?” He automatically gripped Fancy around the wrist. The touch was not unwanted, Fancy did not pull away. Instead it seemed to help settle them both.

“The Chairman,” Fancy cast a furtive look over his shoulder, “He is not…happy about this development.” The old concubine’s words were careful.

Thinking of all the training implements, Dove’s throat tightened. He turned his hand so that Fancy’s fingers intertwined with his own. “He did not hurt you, did he?” His words tumbled over each other in a rushed whisper.

Ocean eyes widened, “What? No,” Fancy gave a half hearted smile, patting their joined hands gently. “He hardly ever remembers that I am there outside of providing food and drink. Just,” Something bleak drifted over Fancy’s features. He let their hands pull apart with the weight of gravity, “be careful.”

The sound of hooves on cobble stones made butterflies storm his stomach. His fingers clenched on the basket handle. He had seen the greeting of scheduled guests a thousand times. He had just not been the one to go through the practiced movements.

Opening the door, with a bow, taking a knee with head dipped low, husky tones that did not sound like his own voice, “Welcome to Crimson Valley.”

They talked over his head. It was the magistrate and the local alchemist. Dove could not remember which was which, the one called Williamson. Not that it really mattered, by the magistrate’s own words, they were not expecting perfection.

The door creaking had him looking down the corridor. The Chairman was but a shadow standing in the doorway of his office. He would expect much more.

Jasper took the gold, Fancy hovered like a nervous mother, and Dove lead his first two official clients out into the sunlight behind the manor. He bypassed the comfort of his pagoda towards the bridge over the brook.

He spread the blanket beneath the shade of cherry trees heavy with pink and white blossoms. Per custom, shoes and sandals were discarded. The tea service and finger foods were simple. The two men decided to recline against the blanket, continuing to converse as he plied them with tea, bread and cheese, a little bit of watered down wine, and sweet buns that Fancy had prepared.

Dove’s gut knotted when he cleared it away, kneeling between the men. The small vial of oil sat on the blanket near his knee. The magistrate, bald with small beady eyes, eased his robe down his shoulders leaving him bare for their eyes. The alchemist, Williamson, he remembered, had a cheerful almost jovial face. His cheeks were round and ruddy, like he was ready to laugh at the drop of a hat.

“Don’t worry, little pretty bird,” Williamson smiled at him. His large hands were damp and moist against Dove’s shoulders. “We just want your mouth and your ass.”

The magistrate’s fingers delved deep into his body, making him squirm in surprise. He had to breathe deep when the alchemist’s cock appeared before his eyes. They were not cruel. Even when he gagged on the cock pushing into his throat, even when the cock in his ass made him hiss, they were greedy in their search for the completion of their lust. Movements were not in synch, he felt buffeted by the syncopation of jab, thrust, and retreat, only to repeat over and over. The spill in his mouth came first. The magistrate cursed, his hips moving frantically in search of his own release. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the quiet breezes of summer.

Dove felt his own cock heavy and neglected between his thighs. Each man reclined on the blanket, their suits rumpled with the sweat of exertion. Cocks lazy and spent against the fine woolen trousers. He hoped he was not making a misstep as he sat back on his heels and drank a quick gulp of wine.

The magistrate turned on his side, resting his chin in the cradle of his hand. His elbow bore his weight. “Such a pretty cock,” Dove bit back a moan as he drug a finger against the underside of his length.

“Give us a show.” Williamson chimed in, nibbling at a left over sweet bun.

It warred with his sense of training with the Chairman. Sinfully decadent to wrap his own hand around his flesh, Dove bit his lip as his hips bucked forward. Mindful of the client’s pleasure, he kept the movement slow, rippling downward, corkscrewing upward, trailing his thumb into the slit, spreading his own fluid up and down. The flush of arousal traveled down his neck and across his chest.

“Venus’ tits,” the magistrate muttered, his hand wrapping around his cock.

He rode his hand, his hips moving up and back. His buttocks felt sweaty against the drag of his heels. His own pleasure rose up and choked him. It had been about pain, degradation, humiliation, and for a pure sweet moment it felt good. His seed seemed to fly out of him in gut wrenching spasms, fluid pearling against his stomach, chest and groin. He collapsed to the side, his knees trembling beneath him. Dove panted and felt the sleepy haze of completion. It almost did not matter when they had him on his hands and knees once more. The alchemist in his ass, Dove fought against exhaustion not to choke around the magistrate’s cock.

He made a half hearted attempt to straighten their clothes, forgetting that he was supposed to clean their spent pricks first. The jovial look in the alchemists face returned when he gently pushed Dove’s hand aside.

“Rest, little bird, you have earned your gold.”

They left him there beneath the limbs of the cherry trees. He stared at the dancing limbs, watching the sunlight sift through them. Dove knew he should pack up and return the basket to the manor. Search out Jasper and see if he had a second assignment.

He should at least put his robe back on.

His touch slid to his nipples, ghosted down his belly, to rest over his sleepy cock. A shiver rippled from inside of him outward. He felt his lips tip upward.

He felt used and loose, satisfied and comfortable. His teeth flashed in the sunlight. Maybe being a concubine was not so bad, when death had been his only other alternative.

Maybe he could like his new life as a whore.

*~*

“The last time he was here, he chose Honey.” Scarlet said importantly.

“No, it was the twins.” Pretty argued.

“Not us,” Azure and Sky replied in unison.

“It was Diamond,” Honey stated, bored and looking at his nails.

Diamond lifted his head, only to shake it with the accompaniment of an eye roll. Turning the page in a slow, lazy movement, he went back to reading the book in his lap.

Jasper had called them all to the gathering room to wait for the Chairman. Dove stood beside Fancy. “What’s going on?” He kept his voice low as not to call attention to himself. His fingers worried the new slender gold hoops that Fancy had pierced through his earlobes. They ached. “Who are they talking about?”

Fancy batted his hand away absently. “It was Honey,” He told the group of lounging concubines. His ocean-colored eyes were hard as he stared at the blonde, “and he knows it.”

Honey merely yawned. Dove did not like the look in the blonde’s liquid brown eyes. His every instinct was telling him to melt into the background to stay out of harm’s way. Something was amiss, the air in the gathering room thickened with tension. He did not understand the animosity towards Fancy but he was thankful when the old concubine pulled him toward the safe haven of his kitchens.

“What’s going on?” He asked again. Fancy paced back and forth before slumping against the counter.

“We only know him as the ‘Warrior.’ He is rumored to be a political assassin, brought in to start wars or end them.” Fancy hugged his arms around his chest. “He is not one of our rougher clients, quite easy to please actually.”

Dove stepped up to Fancy and pried his arms away from his body. He slipped his hands in the old whore’s hands. “That’s not what is bothering you. You normally ignore the typical twittering of Honey and Pretty. Tell me.”

“He always wants fresh blood, the newest boy when he arrives. Honey was the last. So that means…”

“Me.” Dove gulped. It would not be like servicing the barrister and the magistrate, or even the Chairman. It would be the first time he would entertain a client. On his own.

Fancy nodded. He moved restlessly once more. 

“Fancy.”

His hands stilled on the delicate tea pot. “You have been almost in seclusion since you’ve arrived. Shielded from how it can be,” His shoulder lifted under his faded green robe, “I just wanted to you to have more time.”

Dove softened. “Thank you, Fancy. I will do everything in my power not to change.” He felt a swell of nervous anticipation, “When?”

“Not really, sure,” Fancy poured the tea and lifted it. He offered it to Dove with worry puckering his brow, emphasizing the lines dug deeply in his flesh. “It could be days or it could be hours. He always sends word that he is on his way.” 

When Fancy led them back towards the gathering room, a door creaking made Dove pause with uncertainty. Jasper shuffled out of the Chairman's office; tucking his every present lists into his vest pocket. He watched as Jasper gave him a nod and frown as he departed. Jasper’s frown had nothing on the Chairman, blue eyes glittering and face brooding when he appeared before the concubines lounging in the gathering room. 

The Chairmain only motioned for him to follow, into the recesses of his office. Dove looked to Fancy one last time, feeling as though he were a lamb led to slaughter.

Dove had little time to prepare himself. He did not have to wait long. It turned out to be a day until the Warrior's arrival. Fancy had instructed him to keep it simple. No adornments, prepare his body, and wear a robe that could easily be discarded. The old concubine would serve refreshments in the manner as the Chairman and the Warrior completed the transaction. 

The tea service was prepared. The sun was setting low on the horizon. He twisted his fingers in the ties of his robe. The lamps swung to and fro, casting quivering shadows on the walls. Hiding the more decadent forms of pleasure in the corners.

He felt the anticipation curl in his belly. Dove felt a settling sense of his role. He could choose to make it horrible, railing at the injustice of his very existence. Or he could do as he always had in his life, to mold adapt, observe, and survive. He could find pleasure in using his body to serve, to take pleasure where he could as he was taken. 

He had felt it when he used his hand on his body. The sheer agony of holding back against his body's needs, the want, the need, the desperation. Being trained to release on command, to see the lust in the man’s eyes, the power of holding his need over him, and then the rush, the heated spill against his skin, being left hollow, drained, and complete.

Dove knew he could do it. He could become the whore. He could take the pleasure and hold on tight. He could forget that he no longer had his name, his lineage. He would be Dove, enigmatic and alluring, pleasing and seductive.

He would be the whore.

*~*

With a name like the ‘Warrior’, Dove expected a battle hardened man. Ragged in appearance, scarred and world weary, however the man was far from it. He knocked on the gray door, three precise raps. He stood in the silhouette of the setting sun.

“Hello.” His voice was low and subdued.

“Sir,” Dove’s voice cracked with his nerves, his hand trembled as he motioned for the man to enter. He was not really sure where to begin. The man helped him.

Strong fingers kneaded his shoulder, “We’ll get to that. Just sit with me for a little while, tea would be good.”

He was tall and broad shouldered. Dark hair was cut short but with a fringe of bangs that made him look youthful, disarming. He knelt on the bed and twisted his head from side to side, groaning with pleasure as it cracked, popped, with muscles loosening and relaxing.

It helped to settle his nerves to serve the tea, to add oil to the lamps, to kneel quietly. The man reclined against the thick pad on the floor. His robe loosened, revealing a smooth muscled chest. Dove’s fingers itched to touch.

“You are quiet,” the Warrior’s lips quirked upward, “Not too pretentious, I like that. Not like some of the others, painted and fake too young and too soon.”

The words did not deem an answer. Dove cleared away the tea service, taking a moment to collect himself in the shadows. He gasped as hands gripped his hips and pulled him backwards. A soft kiss on his shoulder had him relaxing into strong arms.

“You do not need to hide yourself,” the Warrior admonished, his broad hand grazing over Dove’s groin, “you are beautiful.”

Strange that he wanted to talk, the Warrior's deft fingers unknotted the times and opened the soft silky robe. His words were intermingled with kisses and touches. Dove lost himself in it, leaning into the broad chest that held him, gasping at teasing touches, and gentle bites. The robe lay in a heap at his bare feet when the Warrior turned him and moved him back onto the thick padded bed.

"Let me look on you, taste you, so young, not yet turned by the coldness of the world," the Warrior whispered against his skin.

He felt like a puppet and the Warrior the marionette. His body was maneuvered so that the Warrior could settle between them. His large scarred hands grasped his thighs and opened him wider. A blush fired his cheeks and his cock lengthened on his belly. Dove covered his face with hands, being so open and vulnerable to the eyes of a customer.

In the little time he had been a whore, it was about service, using his mouth and body to please. But the strange Warrior took his time, seemed to relish touching his skin, rubbing his lips against his quivering belly. He could not hold back the impatient buck of his hips, his need burning, and forgetting his place.

When he realized it, he gasped and began to apologize. The Warrior merely covered his lips with hand to halt the tumbling words.

“Why do you think I seek the newest of you?” His dark eyes were serious.

And for once the question was directed at him and Dove was silent. He pondered the man’s words. If he was truly used in the way Fancy said, then a Warrior such as he would not have time for love or emotional entanglements.

It does not stop the heart from yearning, he decided. And at once all of Fancy’s lessons on becoming the character and acting made more sense. The client ultimately bought the illusion with their gold.

The Warrior was seeking that which he could not have within his own life. A brief moment of youthful passion mixed with a nod to innocence that he could no longer regain.

Sitting up, he curled around the Warrior. The man held him close, his arms wrapping around his hips. Dove let his hands wander over the broad shoulders, the worn coat, and the warmth of his client’s neck. The Warrior groaned lowly before lifting his head and seeking his mouth with a demanding kiss that bordered on desperation.

So unlike everything he has known, Dove thought with a sigh. The Warrior lowered him once more until his back was against the cool sheets. The dark head travelled over his shoulders, the buds of his nipples, the shallow well of his navel, to the sensitive lines of his groin that connected to his thighs. He could not swallow the hiss as sharp white teeth scraped over the knobs of his hipbones.

He cried out, “No, please,” curling up off the blankets once more as the Warrior took his cock into the warm wet cavern of his mouth. Dove shuddered, his fingers finding the soft dark hair. Nothing had felt like this, not even his own hand on his flesh.

His training flew out of the window as he emptied his seed into the mouth of the Warrior, who suckled him gently until it bordered on pain. Dove turned on his side and covered his face. He could the tremble in his voice as he apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

It would mean punishment, to lose himself in the moment and forget that the customer comes first. The Warrior would no doubt complain to the Chairman. And if he thought the spanking for training was bad, he shudder once more at the thought of the pain that the Chairman would dole out.

Calloused wide hands turned him and lifted him up, with soft whispers meant to soothe him.

“Hush, little one and look at me.”

Dove lifted his head hesitantly.

A soft kiss whispered over his lips as he was lifted up and sat onto the Warrior’s lap. “Give me a night for lovers and you will earn your gold and my gratitude.”

Opening his mouth, Dove shut it just as quickly. He slid off of the Warrior’s lap and pulled his knees up, curling his arms around them.

The Warrior smiled and nudged him, “No, speak, Dove,” He reclined beside Dove’s seated form and pushed his hair behind his ear. The fingertip traced over the golden hoop.

Dove ducked his head, hiding behind his hair, “I am sorry, Sir, but I do not know the way of lovers.”

The Warrior laughed but the thumb under Dove’s chin showed him that it was not directed at him but rather in merriment.

“A true find, then,” the Warrior’s voice deepened. With his fingertip, he brought Dove’s lips to his own. The kiss was a gentle promise of more.

Never in training was it about passion, touch, and lust, where what was given was taken and returned. Dove lifted his arm to hug the Warrior close, only to have his hand caught. His wrist was nuzzled with nips and licks trailing up his arm, into the curve of his underarm. Instead of ticklish, it heated him from the inside out as the Warrior scented and tasted him.

Fingers and nails scratched down the outside of his thigh, he gasped. Those broad hands twisted into his inner thighs, holding him open. Instead of vulnerable, Dove felt hungry. And the look in the Warrior’s eye made him feel…

…powerful.

He gave himself into it. He pushed the jacket and shirt away from broad shoulders, skin warm and spicy to his lips. The Warrior cupped the back of his neck when he unlaced trousers and shoved the down muscled thighs, so different from his slender pale ones. The man’s cock was thick and wide. And Dove wanted it.

The stretching of his opening stung but it was not intrusive, not when the Warrior drank his gasps and keens like life’s water. He found the oil and slicked hard, hot length with teasing strokes, sweeping his palm over the wide leaking head.

Growling, the Warrior pulled Dove’s legs around his hips. The Warrior buried his face in Dove’s neck as he sank slowly into the waiting body. Digging his heels into sweat slick skin, Dove lifted his hips meeting the slow building thrusts. His cock was trapped between their bodies, hard and aching once more.

Deeper and deeper, the Warrior lifted Dove’s hips and then put his legs on his shoulders. Too much it took his breath, the man taking his own passion, his greed in the snap of his hips, the clutch to his shoulders and his hips. Warm, panted breaths gusted over Dove’s upturned face as the Warrior lost his rhythm, his body locking up as warm, pulses of seed filled Dove within. 

He held him, as the big shoulders shuddered, the Warrior resting on his arm over Dove’s body. His slender legs slid down and onto the blankets. And when he thought it was over, the Warrior grasped his aching cock and brought him to a stuttering release of the big hand and his quivering belly.

The Warrior sprawled on his back, his hand rested low on his stomach. Dove pulled his aching body up into a seated position. He was going to find a cloth to clean the traces of seed off his skin, when the Warrior’s hand caught his wrist.

“Rest, little one,” the sleepy voice told him. “We will bathe soon and find our dreams, but for now just rest.” Dove was pulled down onto his chest, and the large hand went into his hair.

The rest of the evening was a sleepy bath that the Warrior allowed Dove to bathe him. They returned to the pagoda under a starry sky. They were unaware of watchful eyes frowning over them from the manor house.

In the morning light, Dove sat near the sleeping Warrior. He wondered if Apollo’s light would change the gentle lover under Diana’s moon would become the hardened soldier. But the man woke slowly, his hand traveling over Dove’s thigh. He sat up and kissed the concubine for a long time, leaving Dove breathless.

And again the Dove wanted. He let his hand travel down the Warrior’s naked chest to his groin. The Warrior smiled against his lips.

“Tell me what you want, little one.”

Instead of speaking, Dove kept his eyes on the Warrior’s, sliding down slowly until the half hard cock was near his mouth. “Please,” his whispered word made the cock twitch against the muscled thigh.

The Warrior’s fingers twisted loosely within his hair. Taking his time, Dove explored. Licking and tasting the soft skin over the hard core of the man’s cock. He knew he was doing good when the Warrior’s hips began to buck upward shallowly. 

He teased the leaking slit, found the tight sac in the nest of thick curls. Whispered words began to spill from the lips of the Warrior as Dove moved to sucking, taking the length deeper and deeper. His cheeks hallowed ad the Warrior began to take over, instinct making him seek out his release. Seed slid down Dove’s throat thick and warm.

Pulled up into the strong arms, the Warrior kissed him. “You need more sleep, little one. I know my way.”

Hesitant, Dove reached out and pulled the kind hand to his cheek, “Thank you,” he whispered.

The Warrior froze and then hugged him close, his lips pressing to his hair.

“Thank you, little Dove, the miles do not seem as long now.”

The Warrior left him at the door; he did not look back as he took the cobbled path that led to the manor. 

Hugging himself, Dove closed the gray door to his pagoda and found his bed. The scent of the Warrior was in his nose as he found his sleep in the soft morning light.


End file.
